Livin' On a Prayer
by PiaculumDeFatum
Summary: After a prominent Californian Senator is found dead by mysterious causes, the search for the killer becomes a race against time as one CSI's life is put on the line. NickxGreg SLASH.
1. Prologue

**Rating:**_ T_

**Warnings:**_ Slash (male on male), some sexuality and swearing  
_

**Spoilers:**_ Season 1-currrent; definite mentions of "Grave Danger"_

**Relationships:**_ Established Nick/Greg_

**Summary:**_ After a prominent Californian Senator is found dead by mysterious causes, the search for the killer becomes a race against time as one CSI's life is put on the line._

_**A/N:**__ Welcome! A few things before we get started…_

_1. This is slash, folks. If you don't like it, don't read it. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED._

_2. Rating is T, so no real smut (sorry). May be a few "sex" scenes later on, but probably not much._

_3. Based on the song "Livin' On a Prayer" by Bon Jovi. The italicized words at the beginning of each chapter are from that song._

_4. This is a WIP, so please forgive me if the chapters aren't up as quickly as we would all like. Also, this is my first attempt at a Nick/Greg. Please be kind._

_5. Slightly case file-esque in the fact that much of the story is wrapped up in the case, but the focus is also on the relationship._

_6. CSI: belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. I own neither the characters nor the places nor yet the song. Only the plot. And all OCs that you don't recognize._

_7. The prolougue is short, for which I apologize greatly. The chapters are longer, I promise. And now, after much ado about nothing, on with the show!_

**Livin' On A Prayer**

Prologue

_"Once upon a time,  
Not so long ago"_

"Good morning Las Vegas! This is John McCann reporting for CBS 2 News. Today is Monday the 8th and top news this morning is the visit from controversial Californian Senator Patrick O'Neil…"

"Hey, Marty, ya wanna turn that down?" called a voice from the hotel's bedroom. "I can't even hear myself think."

"Sure thing, Pat," replied Marty as he turned the T.V. set off. Getting up off the couch, he walked over into the bedroom, watching Pat as he struggled with his tie.

Frustrated, Pat yanked the failed knot again. "Marty, will you tie this for me, please?"

"You just gotta have patience," teased Marty as he stepped forward and tied it neatly. "See, there you go."

"Thanks, I owe you one," said Pat, relieved, as he checked his hair in the mirror.

"Tell me, Pat," said Marty as he leaned casually against the dresser, "what in God's name would you do without me?"

"God only knows," replied Patrick as he straightened his suit jacket before turning back to Marty. "Well, how do I look?"

Marty's gaze softened. "You look fine. Dashing, I'd say." He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his lover's waist. "Tell me, why're you trying so hard to impress these people? You're a United States Senator, for Christ's sake."

Patrick gave him a look. "I may be a senator, but I'm a gay Senator. The gay senator. Do you know how hard that is for me?"

"Impossibly hard?" supplied Marty. He sighed and hugged Patrick gently. "If it's any consolation, I'm amazingly proud of you."

"That's not a consolation," said Pat with a smile. "That's my reward." He leaned in and kissed Marty gently. "Now I gotta go."

"Alright, I guess," sighed Marty, turning away. His gaze caught sight of an open envelope on the dresser. "You get a letter from someone?"

"What?" asked Pat, not paying attention. "Oh, yeah. No big deal. Just another note from some constituent telling me that I'm going to Hell."

"Great," laughed Marty. Then he turned serious. "Hey, at least if we're going to Hell, we'll be there together."

"Yeah, that's true," said Pat with a smile. He glanced at his watch and his smile turned into a grimace. "Great, I'm gonna be late. C'mon, let's go."

"Alright, alright," agreed Marty, laughing as Pat dragged him away. He quickly forgot about the envelope on the dresser as they went about their busy day.

* * *

**_A/N: _**_I am most definitely not implying anything about California with the fact that the Senator is from there. It just happens to be geographically convenient to Las Vegas._


	2. Day 1, Part 1

**_A/N:_**_ Well, not much to say. There'll be a longer explanation at the end of all the medical terms and such. Usual disclaimer applies. _

Chapter One

"_We gotta hold on to what we got"_

"Good morning Las Vegas. This is Clarence Jones reporting live for CBS 2 News from City Hall where Senator Patrick O'Neil was found dead this morning, Tuesday the 9th…"

Nick Stokes yawned as he climbed from his truck and ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. "Griss, this had better be good," he said as he yawned again. "You woke me up from what promised to be a nice, long sleep."

"Well, it depends on your definition of good," replied Grissom, snapping a picture of something. "It certainly wasn't a good morning for this Californian Senator."

Instantly, Nick perked up. "Senator O'Neil's the DB?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Grissom.

"Yep," said Grissom, snapping another picture of the body. "He was found at six this morning by his partner over there." He pointed at a distraught-looking man talking to Brass. "Brass is getting his statement now."

"We got a COD?" asked Nick as he knelt next to the body, visually examining it for anything out of the ordinary.

"No apparent one," supplied David from his position at the vic's head. "Liver temp's normal, lividity isn't fixed and rigor hasn't set in, so he hasn't been dead very long."

"Fits his boyfriend's statement," said Brass as he joined them "According to…" He consulted his notes. "Marty Resner, he left the room for five minutes to go get our vic a glass of water, and when he came back, the vic was on the floor, dead. He called 9-1-1 after checking for a pulse and finding none. He tried CPR, but it obviously didn't work. EMTs pronounced DOA."

"What was the senator doing here at six in the morning?" asked Greg as he and Sara walked up.

"Decided to join us, huh?" asked Brass, raising an eyebrow at the young CSI. "And he was practicing for a speech he was supposed to give later today."

"Well, he won't be giving any more speeches," said Grissom, standing. He gave Greg a strange look. "And why are you two so late? We're only about ten minutes away from the lab."

Greg grinned. "Funny story, actually…" he started, but Grissom shook his head and cut him off.

"Story time can wait, Greg. This scene's fresh, and we need to process it right away. I'll stay here and wait for Cath and Warrick. Nick, take Sara and Greg and go process the vic's hotel. He was staying at the Tangiers."

"Wait, we're all working on this case?" asked Greg, raising an eyebrow.

Grissom nodded emphatically. "Yes. This case is top priority. If Doc Robbins rules it as murder, it'll go down as an assassination, and I want us to get as far as we can before the Feds decide to take over."

Nick nodded in affirmation and then turned to Greg and Sara. "Well, shall we?" he asked.

All three left, leaving Grissom alone with David. Grissom squinted at the body. "Are there any obvious contusions or signs of struggle?"

David shrugged and shook his head. "No. No signs of any external injury of any kind. If I didn't know better, I'd say he just dropped dead."

"Healthy, mid-thirties men don't just drop dead, David," chided Grissom absently as he looked at the body. With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes and said, "Go ahead and take him, David. I'll send Warrick over to collect trace later." Grissom looked back down at the body and wondered out loud, "What happened to you, Mr. Senator?"

* * *

Nick, Greg and Sara walked away from the crime scene toward their cars. Greg was about to go with Sara, but Nick stopped him. "Why don't you ride with me, Greg?" he suggested. "I want to talk to you about that case out in Henderson the other day." 

Greg shrugged and looked over at Sara. "See you there," he told her, heading over to Nick's truck and climbing.

Nick took his time putting his kit in the back of his truck as he waited for Sara to leave. Once she was gone, he clambered into the driver's seat and turned to Greg, leaning over and kissing him gently on the lips. "Good morning," he whispered, smiling at him.

"We gotta stop meeting like this," said Greg, but he was smiling. He kissed Nick back, harder and deeper that Nick had kissed him.

Nick pulled away when he heard a car. Straightening, he started the truck and drove out the parking lot. Greg sighed and leaned back in his seat. "You know," he said conversationally, staring at the ceiling, "they're going to find out sooner or later."

Nick grunted noncommittally. This was not an unusual conversation with them; one version or another played out at least once daily. Nick sighed as Greg turned the radio on. Since the two had started dating a few months ago, after the whole coffin incident (Nick had to suppress a shudder), Greg had wanted nothing more than to tell everyone. And Nick? Well, Nick just wasn't ready yet. He sighed again and turned to look at the younger man jamming to Black Flag. The CSIs were bound to notice how Nick grinned like an idiot whenever Greg was near or how Greg lit up like a Christmas tree whenever Nick entered a room. They were bound to notice that all but one of Nick's pre-set radio stations in his car were now set to rock stations. Sooner or later, they'd figure out why seemingly strange comments about grocery shopping or needing a new couch were everyday things with them. One day, they'd realize that Nick hadn't had a girlfriend since the whole coffin thing, but spent the night at Greg's at least once a week, and the rest of time Greg slept over at his place. One day. Sooner or later. Nick just hoped it was later.

He sighed once more and Greg asked concernedly, "Hey, is everything alright?"

"Yeah," said Nick, half-smiling at Greg. "Yeah." He looked Greg in the eyes. "You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah, I know," said Greg, a small grin lighting up his face. He turned serious. "We don't have to tell them yet if you don't want to. I don't care."

"Thanks," said Nick gently. "Besides, I want to see who'll figure it out first. My money's on Catherine. She's got a woman's intuition about this sort of thing."

"What, not Warrick?" asked Greg, raising an eyebrow. "You don't think your best friend will be able to guess it?"

"Are you joking?" laughed Nick as they pulled into the parking lot at the Tangiers. "The day Warrick Brown figures out on his own that I'm gay is the day Catherine and Sara come out and say they've been having some lesbian lovin' on Grissom's desk while he watches."

"Ah, my retinas!" exclaimed Greg, screwing up his eyes. "Why would you put that image into my mind? Why?"

"Sorry," said Nick, hiding a grin as he parked and they got out. "Just wanted to make you realize that it's almost impossible for Warrick to figure out that I'm gay."

"Yeah, but Cath and Sara lesbian action? Gross," said Greg with a shudder. He paused contemplatively. "There again, lesbian action in general never really appealed to me."

Nick blinked at Greg. "Greg, you like men."

Greg shrugged. "Meh, c'est la vie."

Shaking his head and grinning, Nick followed Greg into the Tangiers. They were met by an officer who escorted them to the late Senator's suite. Sara was already busy photographing the living room. "'Bout time you guys got here," she mentioned calmly. "What held you up?"

"Car crash," said Greg, just as calmly. "Twenty casualties at least. Five dead already."

"Twenty?" asked Sara, raising her eyebrows. "What did you do, hit a bus?"

"No, clown car," said Greg, dead serious. He pulled out a pair of gloves and put them on. "As it turns out, they were a bunch of illegal immigrants posing as clowns. We had to wait for Border Patrol to arrive."

Sara stifled a laugh and shared a look with Nick, who just shrugged helplessly. "I'll take the bathroom," he said, glancing at Greg. "Why don't you take the bedroom?"

"Sure thing," said Greg cheerfully, firing off a salute in Nick's direction before heading into the bedroom. "What're we looking for, exactly?" he asked as he scanned the room.

"You know," called Nick from the bathroom. "Any evidence that suggests the Senator was murdered."

"Right," said Greg as he set to work on the bedroom.

* * *

Grissom opened the door to the morgue, pulling on his gloves as he went. "What've we got, Doc?" he asked. "Murder or something else?" 

"Well, Gil, I don't know what to tell you," said Doc Robbins from over at the body.

"What do you mean?" asked Grissom, confused. "Either it's murder or natural causes."

"Come see for yourself," said Doc Robbins calmly. He pulled away the flap of skin on the Senator's chest. "Notice anything?"

Grissom peered into the Senator's chest. "Nothing seems remarkable," he said. "What was COD?"

"Heart failure," said Doc Robbins with a shrug. "His heart stopped. There's evidence of stress on the heart, suggesting a heart attack, but no evidence as to the cause." Grissom looked up, surprised, but Doc Robbins held up a hand to stop him from speaking. "Wait, there's more. As lividity became fixed, I noticed something strange. Take a look at his legs. The pattern of lividity is unusual and unique to massive muscle death caused by multiple infarctions."

"Post-mortem?" asked Grissom, brow beginning to wrinkle in confusion.

Doc Robbins shook his head. "As far as I can tell, he suffered the muscle death in his legs at the same time as the infarction in his heart."

"So massive vascular infarctions took place in his legs and his heart at the same time? What could possibly do that to a fairly healthy man?"

"It gets better still," said Doc Robbins grimly, crossing over to a stainless steel bowl. "Take a look and tell me what you see."

Grissom peered into the bowl, adjusting his glasses to see it better. It was the Senator's brain. "Hm…" said Grissom aloud. "Seems unremarkable."

"On the outside, yes. Now look at this." The doctor flipped the brain over so Grissom could see in it. "Severe destruction of the _substantia nigra_. I'd say that's what caused the infarctions, although I can't tell you what caused the depletion. Over 80 percent of the _substantia nigra_ has been destroyed." He paused and stared at the brain before shaking his head slowly. "I sent a blood sample to tox. They'll be able to tell you more."

"Thanks, Doc," said Grissom slowly, still puzzling over the body. He left the morgue even more confused than he had been when he had gone in. What had happened to the Senator?

* * *

Greg looked over the crumpled bed sheets flung haphazardly over the bed. He quickly pulled put his UV-light before hitting the lights and crossing back to the bed. He looked over the sheets and groaned aloud. "Hey Nick," he called, wrinkling his nose at the large stains that showed up under the light. "Did I ever tell you how I never want to stay in a hotel again?" 

"I'll take it you found semen stains on the sheets?" asked Nick, poking his head out of the bathroom.

"Yeah…massive semen stains. I mean, Jesus…I don't think I've ever seen this much…except, well, you know…" He grinned wickedly at Nick, who blushed deeply.

Nick cleared his throat loudly and said in a strange-sounding voice, "Well, I found some used condoms in here, so we can compare the semen."

"Wait, you found condoms?" asked Greg, confused. "That doesn't make any sense. Who has unprotected sex and then decides to use a condom?"

"Someone sleeping with more than one person?" suggested Nick with raised eyebrows. "Could give us motive…"

"Yeah, I'll take the sheets to DNA and see how many contributors we've got," said Greg, nodding. He turned the light back on and pulled out his flashlight to look over the dresser. He saw an envelope with a letter hanging out. Brow furrowing, he pulled the letter out, sneezing slightly as he inhaled a little bit of the dust on it. Coughing slightly as the dust burned his throat, he opened the letter and read it to himself.

"Dear Mr. O'Neil,

You are a disgrace to the state and to the United States Senate. Your very existence mars the reputation that this state has. Not only should you, fag, and your cock-sucking boyfriend be shot, but you will also rot in Hell for eternity. In lieu of hunting you down and killing yourself, I've sent you this. Give Satan my regards, fag.

Sincerely Yours,  
A God-Loving Citizen"

"Hey, I've got a threatening note," called Greg to Nick. "Jesus, this is pretty hostile." He looked closer at it. "Some kind of white powder on it. Can't tell what it is, though."

"Well, collect a sample and send it to trace," responded Nick from the bathroom.

Greg nodded, then realized Nick couldn't see him. "Ok, thanks," he called back. Pulling out a small manila envelope, he brushed some of the powder into it before closing it and putting it in his vest. He then carefully sealed the letter and its envelope in an evidence bag before moving on to the rest of the room.

* * *

Less than an hour later, Sara, Greg and Nick were back at the lab. Nick and Sara went to go process some evidence they had collected while Greg finished his report to Grissom. "I found a hate letter with white powder on it," he said, yawning widely. "Sent a sample of the powder to trace first thing when we got back." 

Doc Robbins came up behind Greg. "You found white powder?" he asked, sounding worried. "Did you inhale any of it?"

"Um…" said Greg, looking slightly embarrassed. "Well, see, the letter was, like, coated in the stuff, and—"

"Yes or no, Greg, did you inhale it?" asked the coroner, sounding angrier than he ever had.

"Al, what's going on?" asked Grissom concernedly.

Doc Robbins sighed. "After examining the Senator's nasal passages and upper airways more closely, I found traces of a white powder. I initially thought drugs of some kind, but then Greg said he found some powder on a hate letter to the Senator, so…"

"So you're thinking poison," finished Grissom as what the coroner had been trying to say sank in. He turned to Greg. "Did you, Greg? Even on accident? Did you inhale some?"

Greg nodded mutely, beginning to look afraid. Grissom muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a swear word under his breath and turned back to Doc Robbins. "Al, keep Greg quarantined until we know more about this powder, alright? And Greg…I hope to God it's not poison."

Greg nodded once more, looking incredibly pale, then turned and followed Doc Robbins back to the morgue.

Grissom shook his head, trying to force the feeling of panic to subside. Another of his CSI's lives at stake…Turning on his heel, he walked quickly to the Trace lab. "Tell me you've got something, Hodges," he said as he entered the lab.

Hodges looked up from his computer, face serious. "I do, but you're not going to like it."

Grissom swallowed. "What is it?"

"Well, I can't tell you exactly, but it's very similar to highly concentrated Meperidine Hydrochloride, also known as MPTP. Found in cheap cuts of heroin and other recreational drugs. That's the good news—it's not technically poison."

"What's the bad news?" asked Grissom quietly, dreading the answer.

"MPTP causes severe destruction of the _substantia nigra_, the portion of the brain that produces dopamine, serotonin and other chemicals. Without dopamine, the body is unable to transfer vital messages, causing the afflicted person to basically develop Parkinson's."

"Well, that's ok," said Grissom, almost smiling in relief. "Parkinson's isn't fatal."

"Not normal Parkinson's, no," said Hodges grimly, "but this type is. The high concentration of the substance will cause almost instant destruction to the substantia nigra, which will lead quickly to muscle death and eventually heart failure."

"Shit," whispered Grissom, almost frozen in horror.

Suddenly, Hodges' computer gave off a series of high-pitched beeps. He turned back to it, clicking on something, then said excitedly, "I've got something that may help your investigation. The chemical is produced only by a biological warfare defense company, called BioTech, on the outskirts of Clark County. They'll be able to tell you more."

"Thanks," said Grissom quietly, turning to leave.

"You're welcome," said Hodges, but he looked at Grissom concernedly. "Hey, is everything alright? I mean, Sanders didn't breathe this stuff in, did he?"

Grissom turned back around and just looked at Hodges, who sat down slowly in his chair, stunned. "Oh, God…" he whispered, staring after Grissom as he left.

Grissom strode down the hall. Things were not looking good for Greggo.

* * *

**_A/N (pt. 2):_**_ While I wish fervently that my imagination was good enough to make up all the medical stuff, it's not. I did my research instead. MPTP is real, and while it does cause destruction of the _substantia nigra_, there's no proof that a highly concentrated dose would be fatal, hence why I made up a new drug that would be. Muscle death and/or heart failure is possible, though rare, in severe and advanced cases of Parkinson's. _  



	3. Day 1, Part 2

**_A/N:_**_ I'm going out of town for a week, so this'll be it for a bit. Thank you to everyone who reviewed! You guys rock! Once again, all medical terms and suchforth are not made up. Usual disclaimer applies; don't own and never will. Read on!_

Chapter 2

"_It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not"_

Grissom headed straight to the morgue, looking for Greg. He found him in the hall outside, sitting on a bench. Greg stood as he approached, looking nervous. "So, what's the verdict?" he asked apprehensively.

Grissom didn't answer, instead noticing Greg's hands, which were clenched loosely at his sides. "I thought you said the shaking stopped," said Grissom. When Greg looked at him, confused, he elaborated, "After the explosion…you said the shaking stopped."

Greg held his hands out in front of him and looked down at them with something close to horror. "It did," he whispered, watching them shake. "It did." He looked at Grissom, dark eyes made even darker by the fear glinting in them. "Grissom, what the hell is happening to me?"

Grissom sighed and said quietly, "You're experiencing the early stages of Parkinson's. It's an effect of the white powder."

"Ok, so, Parkinson's," said Greg slowly. "That means the shaking will stop, right? Like, it'll be a tremor that goes on and off, right?"

"No, Greg," whispered Grissom, closing his eyes and turning away. "The shaking will only get worse."

"Grissom, what's going on?" asked Greg, panic beginning to edge into his voice. "What the hell is going on?"

"As we speak, the powder you inhaled is destroying your _substantia nigra_, a part of your brain in charge of transmitting messages to the rest of your body. As the destruction progresses, the shaking will not only increase, but will reach a point where you most likely will be unable to walk, and as it progresses even further, you will experience muscle death and heart failure. When this happens, you will die." Grissom delivered this horrifying oratory with a look of perfect calm on his face, but his voice cracked slightly as he told Greg that he would die, showing the emotion he felt.

Greg blinked slowly at him, then grinned. "You're joking, right? You're pulling my leg, aren't you? Trying to scare me so I won't ingest any more unknown substances, right?"

Grissom closed his eyes and shook his head. "I wish I was joking, Greg," he whispered. "I wish to God I was."

Sinking onto the bench, Greg buried his head in his hands. "Oh my God," he whispered, dark eyes filling with tears. "Oh my God, I'm going to die. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—"

Grissom grabbed Greg's arm as the younger man started to shake even harder. "Greg, calm down," he said, trying to keep himself calm at the same time. "You're hyperventilating."

"Calm down?" exclaimed Greg. "How the hell am I supposed to calm down?" He paled visibly as a realization struck him. "Oh my God, I gotta talk to Nick…I gotta talk to Nick…" He stood shakily and Grissom rushed to help him, but he brushed Grissom away. "No, I can do this. I gotta do this, I gotta…" He was shaking so badly by this time that he fell, hitting his head with a sickening THUMP on the ground.

Grissom knelt next to him, checking his pulse with one hand and his pupils with the other. Greg had been knocked unconscious by his fall, so Grissom picked the young CSI up, surprised by how little he weighed. He carried Greg into the morgue, setting him down on one of the autopsy tables.

He went to go find Doc Robbins, poking his head into the Coroner's office. Doc Robbins was sitting at his desk, flipping through a file. "Hey, Doc," said Grissom quietly, "can I come in?"

"Sure," said Doc Robbins, setting the file down on his desk. "So, what's going on with Greg?"

Sighing deeply, Grissom leaned forward and told Doc everything. As he listened, Doc Robbins' brow furrowed more and more, and once the story was over, he looked gravely at Grissom. "How'd he take the news?" he asked quietly.

Grissom shrugged sadly. "I guess as well as can be expected. He fell over, hit his head and passed out, so I put him on one of your tables until he wakes up. In the meantime, I guess I'd better go tell everyone."

Doc Robbins nodded. "How far are you guys on tracking down an antidote?"

Grissom shrugged again. "We have the name of the biological warfare company that produced the chemical, so we'll be going out there." He looked at the coroner. "What are the chances of survival after the antidote is administered?"

Doc Robbins shrugged as well. "It depends on the destruction done to the _substantia nigra_. All the antidote will do is cease the destruction, but only time can rebuild it. If it's administered too late…well, you'll just have to find that antidote soon."

"I hope we do," whispered Grissom, standing to leave. "I really hope we do."

* * *

Nick poked his head into the lab where Sara was. "Hey, did you get Grissom's page? We're supposed to all meet him in the break room." 

"Yeah, I was just on my way," said Sara, pulling her gloves off and tossing them on the table. "What do you think he wants to talk about?"

Nick shrugged. "With Grissom, who knows? Maybe Greg's mystery powder made a breakthrough in the case." They both walked to the break room, going in together. Nick made a beeline for the coffee and poured himself a cup. He took a sip and made a face. "Who makes this stuff?" he complained, tossing the cup in the garbage can and taking a seat.

Warrick grinned at him as he and Catherine entered. "So it's not Greg's stuff, huh? Thanks for the warning, man."

"Yeah, no problem," said Nick dryly, giving him a dirty look. He glanced impatiently at his watch. "Hey, has anyone seen Greg?"

"I thought he was supposed to report to you after he talked to Grissom…" said Sara, raising an eyebrow. "He never came to see you?"

Nick shook his head, frowning, as Grissom walked sedately into the room. "Alright, everyone, let's have a seat," he said quietly.

Warrick and Catherine sat down, and Sara shared a worried look with Nick before asking, "What's going on, Grissom?"

Suddenly, a knock on the door sounded, and Ecklie poked his head into the room. "You had better have a good reason for calling me down here, Gil," he said irritably. "I was in the middle of a briefing with the sheriff."

"Please sit down, Conrad," said Grissom quietly. "I was just about to get started." He turned back to everyone and sighed. "Alright, we have a situation. As most of you know, during Greg's survey of the vic's room, a white powder…"

As Grissom explained what was going on, a look of horror seemed to settle over everyone's face. Even Ecklie seemed grim at the thought of the ex-lab rat's death. When Grissom was finished, Ecklie stood slowly. "Not a word of this leaves this room, do you understand?" he said harshly. "If word were to get out…"

Nick, who had been staring in shock at Grissom, seemed to snap. He stood as well, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring at Ecklie with a look that radiated hate and loathing. "What, Ecklie? What would happen if word got out? Would you lose your precious job? Is that it?" He curled his lip and shook his head, eyes still burning with a fiery hatred. "Fuck you, man. Greg's life is at stake, and all you can think about is your goddamn cushy job? Un-fucking-believable."

Ecklie seemed temporarily taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "I'm going to disregard your comments due to the stress of the situation, but you had better watch yourself. As far as my job is concerned…well, it's not my job that I'm worried about. If the city were to hear about Greg's accident, he would lose his job." He paused and looked evenly at Nick. "Don't make the mistake in thinking that I care nothing for my employees, Mr. Stokes." He left as abruptly as he had come, sweeping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Warrick blinked at Grissom. "Wow," he remarked, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe Ecklie does have a heart."

Nick looked at Grissom as well. "You said the name of the bio warfare company was Bio-Tech?"

Grissom nodded, once. Nick nodded as well before striding to the door, a look of cold determination on his face. "Where are you going?" asked Grissom, frowning.

Nick turned and looked back at him with burning eyes. "I'm gonna go to that company and get that goddamn antidote," he growled. He yanked the door open and started to leave, then paused and looked back at Grissom, something akin to fear and anguish glinting in his eyes. "I can't lose him, Grissom," he whispered, turning back to the door. "I can't."

* * *

The receptionist at BioTech had not had a good morning. Hence, she was none too pleased to stop what she was doing on behalf of a policeman and his Texan sidekick. She had, however, been more than happy to hand them off to the CEO of BioTech's secretary. 

"Wow," muttered Brass under his breath to Nick as the receptionist stalked away. "She's a pill."

Nick grunted noncommittally and craned his neck to see what the secretary was doing. She looked up at him and blinked. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stokes, but it will be a few minutes."

He tried his best to smile disarmingly. "Look, ma'am, I understand that your boss is very busy, but we're dealing with a homicide here."

"I understand that, Mr. Stokes," she said, shuffling some papers on her desk, "but there's really nothing I can do."

A muscle twitched in Nick's jaw. "And I understand that, ma'am," he said through clenched teeth, "but we really need to see him. The sooner, the better."

She sighed heavily. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Stokes," she began, but he cut her off.

"Look," he growled in a low, dangerous voice that bore no room for argument, "one of my best friend's life is at stake here, and I just want to get in and see if your boss can possibly save his life, alright?"

She nodded mutely, eyes wide, and stood. "I'll see what I can do," she said, and hurried off.

Brass raised an eyebrow at Nick. "I suppose you're not going to tell me what that was about," he remarked calmly, favoring Nick with a piercing stare. When Nick didn't answer, Brass said quietly, "Greg's our friend, too, Nick."

"I know," whispered Nick, still not looking at Brass. He finally looked up, eyes wet. "I just feel so helpless."

Brass nodded slowly. "At least you're doing all you can," he told him quietly. "You're doing everything in your power to help Greg, and he knows that."

"I hope so," said Nick, looking away. "I hope so."

At that moment, the secretary came out of the office. "You may go in now," she informed them, sitting back down at her desk.

"Great," said Nick shortly, and he and Brass went into the office.

The CEO, Thomas Wilson, came out from behind the desk, reaching out and shaking Nick's hand. "Mr. Stokes," he said before switching to shaking Brass' hand as well. "Captain Brass." He sighed and said, "I'm terribly sorry to hear about your friend, but I'm unsure what this has to do with BioTech Industries."

Nick pulled out Hodges; results for the white powder and gave it to the CEO. "That's what this has to do with your company."

"Oh dear," said Thomas meekly as he sank onto his chair behind his desk.

"'Oh dear' doesn't begin to cover it," said Brass grimly.

The CEO looked up, eyes wide. "We had a vial of Solution X stolen from our laboratory just under a month ago."

"Did you report it?" asked Nick, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," said Thomas, looking insulted. "Though not to LVPD," he added hastily. "As a government funded research laboratory, I reported to the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security. We're under their jurisdiction, so—"

"Right," said Nick, cutting him off. "Well, what can we do for an infected person? Is there an antidote, or—?"

"Yes," said the CEO. Nick looked relieved until the CEO continued. "And no."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" growled Nick. "I'm in no mood to play games."

"There was an antidote," said Tomas shamefacedly. "But whoever took the solution took the antidote."

"Damn," swore Nick, tears involuntarily welling in his eyes. "Damn."

Brass asked, "Is there a suspect in custody? Is there a suspect at all?"

Thomas shrugged. "That I do not know. You'll have to consult the FBI."

Nodding, Brass asked quietly, "Can you at least tell us how long we have to get the antidote before he's too far gone?"

"Yes," said the CEO in relief. "Provided you can tell me how long ago he was infected and what his current symptoms are."

As Brass explained the entire situation to the CEO, Nick sank into a chair, staring at the wall. Greg was going to die. That realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The only person that Nick had ever loved was going to die. He stared as nothing as numb shock dulled all his senses, only hearing snatches of Thomas' and Brass' conversation.

"…how long?"

"…seven days…"

"…can…do?"

"…keep him calm…morphine…"

Then Brass was tugging on Nick's arm, leading him out of the office. Nick tried to focus on him and what he was saying, but it was as if Brass was talking in slow motion. Suddenly, Brass slapped him. "Nick! Snap out of it!"

Nick started and shook his head to clear it. "Sorry, Jim," he said quietly.

"It's ok, Nick," said Brass concernedly, looking at him warily. "I just didn't want you passing out on me." He looked at Nick for a moment more before clapping him once on the shoulder. "Come on," he said, jerking his head towards the door. "We gotta go tell Grissom the news."

* * *

Nick stood outside the morgue, looking through the door as most of the team crowded around Greg. It had been unanimously decided that he would stay there, quarantined, until the antidote was found. There was an air of finality to everyone's movements as they went about trying to make the youngest CSI comfortable. Catherine arranged the sheets, blankets and pillows that she had brought in on the cot that Greg was going to be sleeping on, pausing only to ruffle his hair affectionately. Warrick joked with Greg about betting on how long he was going to be in there, but the joke was hollow. Sara barely spoke at all, only holding Greg's hand and trying not to cry. 

And there was Greg in the middle of it all, smiling too widely as if forced. He was scared; his wide brown eyes reflected it, as did his too-pale features.

A single tear rolled down Nick's face as a sudden spasm took Greg. He shook hard, his hands gripping Sara's as he struggled for control. The morgue had grown silent as everyone watched their youngest colleague shake.

Nick closed his eyes and let himself cry softly for a few moments until a hand touched his arm.

It was Grissom. "You can go in there if you want," said the older man softly.

"I'd…I'd rather go in alone," said Nick, looking away.

Grissom nodded understandingly, his blue eyes seeing far more than Nick knew. "Look, Nick," he said hesitatingly. "It'll be ok."

"Griss, Greg's gonna die," whispered Nick, looking at him. "He's gonna die and there's nothing I can do."

"Bullshit," said Grissom calmly. He looked Nick in the eye. "Greg is not going to die. We are going to find that antidote." Nick just shook his head mutely. Grissom reached out and gripped his shoulder. "You are a damn good CSI, Nick Stokes. You will find the antidote. You cannot give up hope. You didn't give up when you were buried alive, Pancho, and I will not let you give up now."

Nick's eyes seemed to clear at the use of his nickname, and he nodded, slowly at first and then firmly. "I will find that antidote," he said, eyes shining and jaw clenched in resolution. "I promise."


	4. Day 1, Part 3

**_A/N: _**_Ok, so I'm slightly annoyed because the stupid line-thingy won't work and I had to substitute words instead. So anytime you see CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION, it's a break, alright? Anyways, even though I'm on vacation, my brother was kind enough to upload this so that I could publish it for the masses eagerly awaiting it. But seriously...This chapter isn't as long as the other two, but it's still over 2000 words (rock!), so, usual disclaimer applies. Enjoy._

Chapter 3

"_We've got each other  
And that's a lot  
For love"_

As the rest of the team filed out of the morgue, Nick slipped in. He crossed over to where Greg lay on the cot. He wasn't sleeping; Nick could tell by his breathing. Greg sat up as Nick approached. Even though he had to be going through hell, Greg still managed a weak version of his patented grin. "Nicky," he said softly, and this was all it took to set Nick off.

He started crying, big, helpless sobs that shook his body. Greg didn't try to stop him, merely pulling him onto the cot with him and stroking his hair gently. "Shh," he whispered soothingly, brushing tears from Nick's cheeks.

Nick sat up, sniffling. "Greg," he whispered, voice cracking. "Greggo, I don't want to lose you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me."

"I know," whispered Greg, beginning to cry softly himself. "God, Nick, I'm so scared. Scared that I'm going to die…scared that I'll never see you again."

"Hey," said Nick softly, pulling Greg close to him, "you're not going to die. I won't let you die."

Greg just looked at Nick, endless despair in his dark eyes. "Nick, I don't think that this is something I can beat," he whispered. "Maybe it's just meant to be."

"No," whispered Nick, swallowing hard. "No, don't you dare give up on me. Don't you dare. I will find that antidote. I swear it." He swallowed again. "Did you give up on me when I was buried alive?"

Greg looked up, eyes wide. Nick rarely talked about what had happened. "Never," he whispered.

"Then don't give up on me now." Greg bit his lip, a tear spilling down his cheek, and just shook his head. Nick put his hands on either side of Greg's face, forcing him to look up at him. Nick searched his eyes desperately, looking for one shred of the beautiful, loving man that he knew, one shred that hadn't been reduced to this shell of hopelessness before him, just one shred to hold onto for all that he was worth. "I promise you," he said fiercely before leaning in and kissing him with a force driven by despair. Greg kissed him back so hard that Nick almost fell over.

They broke apart and Nick ran his thumb over Greg's cheek, gently stroking it. "I promise you," he said in a gentler tone. "I promise you that we will spend the rest of our lives together. I promise you that we'll get a dog, a cute little puppy like you always wanted. I promise that we'll adopt a kid and raise him as our own. I promise…I promise that I will marry you, that I will stand before you in front of a Justice of the Peace and swear to be your forever."

Greg stared at him, shocked. "You're serious?" he breathed, hardly daring to believe it. "But…but…it's not legal in Nevada."

Nick broke into a sad grin. "Then, hell, we'll go to Massachusetts or something." His features turned somber. "I promise you, if we fight this together, there is nothing that can beat us."

Greg wove his hand with Nick's, looking down at their intertwined fingers. "That's an awful lot of big promises, Mr. Stokes," he said quietly. "How do I know you'll keep them?"

"I'll prove it to you," said Nick, equally quiet, but with an edge of desperation. "I'll…I'll come up with some way…I'll…I'll…I'll come out to the team."

Greg's eyes widened and his mouth opened as he gaped at Nick. "N…Now?" he stammered, voice rising an octave.

It was then that Nick realized that for all of Greg's big talk of coming out to the team, he was just as terrified to do it as Nick, but then, Nick realized that he wasn't really afraid anymore. In the face of a much greater adversary, the possibility of losing some of his colleagues' respect no longer fazed him. Instead, he looked Greg in the eye and nodded. "Yes," he said firmly. "As soon as I leave here today, I will tell everyone that you and I are together, and we're very, very happy."

Now the fear in Greg's eyes turned to open admiration as he asked shyly, "You'd really do that? For me? To prove to me that you'll keep all your promises?"

"Yes," whispered Nick. He kissed Greg gently. "I really will." He leaned back and looked at Greg seriously. "You just need to promise me one thing, alright?"

"Ok," said Greg, slightly apprehensive.

Nick looked him in the eye. "Promise me that you will hold on and fight as long as you can. Promise me that you won't let go, no matter what. Promise me…" His voice broke. "Promise me that if anything happens, you'll still love until the end of time."

Greg swallowed, hard. "I promise," he whispered, tears clogging his throat. "I promise."

Nick nodded and kissed him, so gently and sweetly that it almost broke Greg's heart. "I'll call you later," he said, "before I…before I head home."

Greg nodded painfully. Reality was setting in that he wouldn't be going home tonight, that he may never go home again. 'I love you," he whispered suddenly, looking up at Nick.

Nick's expression softened. "I love you, too," he said, reaching out to stroke Greg's cheek once more before he turned and left the morgue. He had important news to tell the team

CSI:CRIMESCENCEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION

The entire team sat in the break room, morosely browsing through Senator O'Neil's case file. Grissom sighed and rubbed his temples. "Alright, so Al said he would be able to delay the results of his autopsy for a few days before the Feds get too worried, but that's all he can give us." He turned to Nick. "Bring us up to speed on the rest."

Nick gulped and looked down at the file he held in his hands. This was it, his chance to keep his promise to Greg. He swallowed again before looking up. "Uh…prints on the envelope came back to the mail carrier, no surprise there. No prints on the letter itself other than the Senator's. Brass is running the return address to see if it actually exists. If it does, I'll go out and interview whoever it is. Um, saliva from the envelope is in DNA, I'm gay, and Hodges is running the envelope for any other trace."

Nodding once, Catherine began, "Ok, so—" before stopping, her face turning the most peculiar shade of red. "Er, Nick, did I hear you right?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, man," said Warrick with a nervous laugh, "cuz I coulda sworn you just said you were gay."

Nick looked at them calmly. "I am," he said quietly. "I am gay, and Greg and I have been dating for almost a year now."

Stunned silence met his announcement as everyone stared at him, open-mouthed. Sara was the first to regain her voice, though all she could manage was a spluttered, "Wha…what?" She looked around at everyone else. "Did any of you know?"

Catherine just shook her head dazedly as Warrick looked down at the table and swallowed hard. "No," he answered, still determinedly avoiding Nick's eyes. "No, apparently my best friend couldn't find the time in his busy schedule to let me know."

Nick sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Look, man, it wasn't like that—" he started, but his cell phone cut him off. He pulled it out and looked at the display. "Jim has the results on the return address," he announced before standing. He looked around the room once. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you all sooner," he said quietly, "but it was my fault, not Greg's. He wanted to tell you from day one, but I…I just couldn't." He gathered up his notes and put them back in the file folder before striding from the room.

The same stunned silence fell again as everyone sat digesting the news. Once again, it was Sara who broke the silence. "Grissom, you've been awfully quiet. Don't you have anything to say?"

Grissom looked up at them, blue eyes stoic as usual. "I knew," he said simply.

"What!" exclaimed Warrick. "They told you without telling us?"

"No," said Grissom, shaking his head. "I sign off on change of address forms. About a month ago, Greg filed one for change of primary address. I couldn't help but notice that Greg's new address is the same as Nick's." He paused. "I didn't say anything because it's their business, not mine."

"They moved in together?" mused Catherine aloud, a small smile beginning to stretch her mouth. "They must be pretty serious about each other." She looked around the room. "C'mon, you can't honestly tell me that you don't think it's at least a little sweet."

Sara started to smile as well. "It is sweet," she admitted. "I just can't believe that we CSIs weren't able to figure it out awhile ago."

"Yeah, well, I can't believe that my best friend didn't tell me about this," said Warrick bitterly. He looked at Sara. "I mean, Jesus, Sara, Greg's your best friend. Doesn't it bother you that he didn't tell you?"

Sara just shrugged, her smiled fading. Warrick shrugged as well before standing. "Well, it bothers me."

He turned to leave but Grissom stopped him. "Warrick, however angry you might be at Nick right now, he needs his best friend." He paused. "Warrick, don't make him go through this alone."

"He's not alone," snapped Warrick angrily. "He's got Greg now." He left without looking back, oblivious to the worried glances everyone exchanged.

CSI:CRIMESCENCEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION

Nick had dialed Brass' number before he even got out of the break room. "Tell me you've got some good news, and our guy didn't use a fake," he said as way of greeting.

Brass chuckled dryly. "No, either he wasn't smart enough of it's not his address. House belongs to a Vincent G. Doziglia."

"Looks like I'm heading out to Cali, then."

Brass' voice turned serious. "Sure, but you're not going alone."

Nick sighed. "Look, Brass, I'll be fine by myself. I'm a big boy, and—"

"It's not you I'm worried about," said Brass shortly.

There was a pause as Nick tried to decide if he should waste energy on feeling insulted. He decided against. "Look, Jim, I'm not gonna beat the shit out of him," said Nick wearily.

"I know that you think that now, but when you're looking him in the eyes, it may be a different story," said Brass calmly. His voice softened. "I know about you and Greg, Nick."

Choking on his own saliva, Nick gaped at his cell phone. "How?" he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. "I only just told the team. Don't tell me they called you already."

"Please," snorted Brass. "They're CSIs. Brilliant when it comes to dead guys, helplessly clueless when they're living. No, I've been watching you and Sanders for awhile now. At work, you guys used to seem a lot closer, but then you two got more…professional. Now, either you two were fighting or were trying not to jump each other…and it didn't take a rocket science to realize it was the latter."

"You figured that all out by yourself, Jim?" asked Nick, mild admiration and surprise in his voice.

Brass chuckled. "Well, and the kiss I saw Greg give you one day in the locker room didn't hurt either."

Nick grinned. "Alright, Brass, whatever." He sobered. "Look, come if you want, but come in your own car and bring some muscle just in case things go south."

"You want me to call in some reinforcements from LAPD?" offered Brass.

"Nah," said Nick, shaking his head. "It shouldn't be that bad."

"Alright. What time do you want to leave?"

Nick checked his watch and groaned. Five o'clock in the afternoon…he had been working since ten the night before. "How 'bout nine tomorrow morning so we can all try and sleep?"

"Fine," agreed Brass. "I'll meet you in the parking lot at nine tomorrow."

"Thanks Brass," said Nick before hanging up. He headed to the locker room, dialing a number he knew by heart. "Hey, Greg," he said into the phone as he sat down on the bench. "How're you feeling? Did you have any more tremors?"

He continued talking to Greg as he changed shirts and shoes. "Alright, well, I'm heading home," he told Greg finally. His voice softened. "I love you, Greg. Bye."

As he hung up, he heard a locker slam next to him. Warrick stood there, glaring at Nick. "Man, what is your problem?" asked Nick, raising an eyebrow at him.

Warrick just shrugged. "There's no problem here," he said coolly, eyeing Nick with open disdain.

Nick looked up at Warrick, hurt and frustration in his dark eyes. "C'mon, man, what is it? Is it because I'm gay? Or because I didn't tell you?"

Warrick just shook his head before turning away. "I just don't want to talk to you right now, ok?"

"Fine," said Nick shortly. He paused before saying tentatively, "You're still my best friend, 'Rick—"

"Yeah?" interrupted Warrick, jaw clenched. 'Well, you've got a shitty way of showing it." He paused, shaking his head. "Some best friend, man, who can't even trust his bro with his secrets. Some goddamn best friend."

He strode from the locker room, Nick calling after him, "Warrick! Warrick!" Nick groaned and rested his head against the cool metal of his locker. Why did everything always go wrong for him?


	5. Day 2, Part 1

_**A/N: **Ah, yes, another chapter. And an extremely long one, for which I apologize. This baby just kinda mutated. The latter part of this chapter is pretty much a series of flashbacks detailing Nick and Greg's romance, and each flashback is in ITALICS. The main reason for the flashbacks is two-fold: firstly, I wanted to maked this chapter lighter than the previous and the ones to come, and secondly, with Greg pretty much incapacitated and Nick going to California, the amount of time to spend on their interactions is minimal, so the best way to do it is by looking back. Oh, and since the stupid line thing still isn't working, when you see "__CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION__" it denotes a break in the story. Usual disclaimer applies; specific spoilers for Rashomama (621), Grave Danger (524), Play With Fire (322), and Daddy's Little Girl (612). About the Play with Fire Spoilers...If you watched 4 x 4, you know that in the decontamination shower, Greg didn't have any scars on his back. I think that was stupid and not well planned at all, so in this, he does. Next chapter will be back to the case. Read on, faithful ones!_

Chapter Four

"_We'll give it a shot"_

Greg lay wide awake in Doc Robbins' office, trying to ignore the feeling that any second now he was going to see dead people. Whoever had thought it was a good idea to keep him quarantined in the morgue had obviously never spent quality time down here.

Involuntarily shivering, he reached out instinctively, finding nothing. He frowned deeply. How could anyone expect him to sleep without his full-body pillow? Fumbling for his phone, he scrolled through his contacts until he found "home". He pushed send and lay back, waiting. After all, he needed to check on his pillow anyway.

"Hello?" answered Nick, sounding tired.

"Hey, I didn't wake you, did I?" asked Greg concernedly.

"No, I was just about to turn on the TV or something and go through the motions of pretending to try to sleep," answered Nick, yawning loudly. His voice softened. "I'll take it you haven't been able to sleep, either?"

Greg sighed. "Not a wink."

"You need to sleep," said Nick gently. "You need to keep up your strength."

"I know, I know," grumbled Greg. "You're only, like, the tenth person to tell me that tonight." He paused and sighed again. "I miss you," he said softly, sounding far more childish than his thirty-one years. "You know I can't sleep without you."

"Do you want me to come down there and sleep with you?" offered Nick. "After all, everyone knows, so—"

"You told them?" asked Greg, grin breaking out on his face. "You really told them? What did they say?"

Nick sighed. "They were shocked, really. No one had any idea…well, except for Brass. And Warrick's pretty pissed at me now."

"I'm sorry," said Greg quietly.

"Greg baby, it's not your fault," said Nick, frown echoing in his voice. He paused. "Anyway, it's all good. But seriously, do you want me to come down there?" He paused again and sighed. "Truth is, I've gotten so used to you next to me that I can't sleep without it."

"If you want," said Greg, trying not to sound too eager. "And as long as it won't disrupt your road trip to California."

"It won't," said Nick with a grin. "I already showered and I'll bring a change of clothes." He paused, then asked tentatively, "Doc's office doesn't smell like death, does it?"

Greg shuddered. "Thank God, no," he said. His voice softened. "I'll see you in a few. I love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

Greg closed his cell phone and lay back against the pillow. The next half an hour was excruciatingly painful as he awaited Nick's arrival.

When he heard the morgue doors open and saw Nick standing there, Greg leapt up and wrapped his arms around him. "God, I've missed you," he whispered into Nick's shoulder as he buried his head in it.

Nick kissed him gently on the top of his head. "And I missed you, too, Greggo, but it's not as if we didn't see each other today."

"I know," said Greg quietly, still not letting go. "But it wasn't the same." He kissed him gently on the lips before looking down at the tiny cot. "Will we both fit?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at Nick.

Nick just smiled at him. "We'll fit," he said unconcernedly. "Don't worry, we'll fit." To prove his point, he lay down and pulled Greg down with him. Sure enough, wrapped in each other's arms, they fit. "See," whispered Nick, kissing Greg gently. "We fit. Perfectly."

Greg smiled sleepily and was about to reply when he started shaking. Nick had seen one of Greg's earlier tremors, but this one was worse. Greg shook like he was having a seizure, and the only thing Nick could do was wrap his arms even tighter around the younger man's body and whisper reassuring words even as their tears ran together over their cheeks.

Finally it was finished. Weakly, Greg sat up, kissing Nick. "Thank you," he whispered, wiping his eyes.

"For what?" asked Nick, brushing a stray tear off Greg's cheek.

"For being here with me…for telling them…for loving me."

Nick smiled softly as he kissed Greg deeply. "You make that part easy, Greggo," he whispered. "You make that easy."

The two lay back against the cot and fell quickly into a deep slumber, still holding each other as if they would never let go.

_CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION_

Nick's watch went off at eight-fifteen the next morning. He tried to carefully detach himself from Greg, but the younger man just pulled him closer. Nick sighed as he gently shook Greg. "Greg, honey, you're gonna have to let me go now."

Greg cracked an eyelid and groaned. "Why?" he whined, not relinquishing his hold on Nick.

Nick smiled sadly. "Because I've got to go to California, silly," he said, trying to keep the mood light. He kissed Greg gently on the forehead. "C'mon, let me up."

"Fine," mumbled Greg as he reluctantly let go of Nick.

Nick stood, wincing as multiple joints cracked and popped. "Greg, I'm thinking we may want to get a bigger bed for tonight." Sighing, he pulled his shirt off. Greg's brown eyes darkened as he too stood, kissing from Nick's jaw down to his chest. Nick laughed throatily and gently pushed him away. "Greggo, we don't have time."

"Yes we do," whispered Greg, pulling Nick's hips flush to his. "I'll be quick, I promise," he said, licking Nick's ear.

"But Doc Robbins…" protested Nick weakly, allowing himself to be pulled onto the cot by Greg.

"…locked the door," finished Greg, already undoing Nick's belt. He looked at Nick, eyes serious. "Please, Nicky," he whispered. "I need this. I need you."

Nick had surrendered long ago and made no further attempt to stop the inevitable.

_CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION_

It was exactly nine o'clock when Nick got to the parking lot at the crime lab. Brass was already waiting with two department cars. "I didn't want your truck to get stolen again," he said with a smirk.

Nick glared at him but couldn't help but smile. "Whatever, man," he said, clapping Brass on the shoulder before slipping into the driver's seat of one of the cars.

He was just about to turn on the radio when the passenger door opened. He looked over to see who it was. "Warrick!" he exclaimed, surprised and slightly wary. "I thought—"

"I got your back, Nick," said Warrick, offering a small smile. "No matter what. I know you had your reasons for not telling me, and I respect that. Hell, I didn't tell you about Tina right away. Look, I was stupid before." He paused and looked at Nick seriously. "Let's just catch this sick son of a bitch, alright?"

"You got it, man," said Nick with a grin, offering Warrick his hand. The other man shook it heartily and pulled him into a brief hug before settling back into his seat.

Nick pulled out of the parking lot, heading to I-15. As they worked their way through traffic, Nick turned on the radio, automatically changing it to one of Greg's favorite stations. Warrick looked at him oddly. "Didn't take you for a Manson fan."

Blushing, Nick quickly changed the station to country. "Sorry. I guess Greg's rubbed off on me."

"Yeah," said Warrick. He paused, then asked, "Alright, so since none of us were paying attention, when did you two get together?"

Nick frowned. He avoided looking at Warrick as he began to speak. "It was…it was after the coffin thing," he said softly, remembering…

_Nick woke up slowly in the hospital room. For one brief second of pain, he felt like he was trapped in the box again. He whimpered softly and instantly heard Greg's voice ask, "Nick? Nicky, are you alright?"_

_Blinking, Nick looked over at Greg. "Greg?" he asked, reaching out almost__unconsciously for the younger man's hand. _

"_Yeah, I'm here," said Greg soothingly, taking Nick's hand and squeezing it._

"_I thought…I thought I was back in the coffin," whispered Nick, turning his head away. He took a deep, shuddering breath and asked in a much calmer voice, "Were you here all night?"_

_Greg shrugged, looking embarrassed. "Well, you know me," he said in a falsely cheerful voice. "Hospital chairs are totally my favorite type of chair."_

_Nick smiled weakly. "You didn't have to stay," he said. "I'm quite fine staying by myself."_

_Shrugging again, Greg stared off into the distance, eyes vague. "I thought you might want someone here in case of…in case of nightmares," he said quietly, voice strangely devoid of emotion._

_In a sudden rush of gratitude, Nick realized that if anyone understood even a fraction of what he was going through, it was Greg; Greg, who had also had his life nearly snatched away from him in the blink of an eye. "Do they ever go away?" asked Nick quietly._

_Greg smiled sadly and looked away. "Would you believe me if I said they did?"_

"_No," said Nick with a short, dry laugh._

"_They get better," said Greg, this time meeting Nick's eyes. "Nicky, you left a part of yourself in that coffin, just like I left a part of myself in the burned wreckage of the lab. You will rebuild it, but it takes time."_

_Nick closed his eyes. "I just want to forget," he whispered. "Just forget it ever happened."_

_Greg's smile twisted. "You never forget," he said softly, dark eyes darkening in hidden pain. "There are always scars."_

_Lifting his eyes to Greg's, Nick asked quietly, "Can I see them? Your scars?"_

_Greg froze, eyes filled with fear. Slowly, he turned so his back was to Nick. He silently lifted his shirt up, showing the maze of scars stretching from shoulder to hip._

_Nick reached out and touched them, tracing over the slightly uneven edges where they had to do skin grafts. He ran his fingers from Greg's hip up to his shoulder. Carefully turning Greg around to face him, he looked him in the eyes. "They're beautiful," he whispered, eyes searching his. "Tragically beautiful, but beautiful nonetheless."_

_Greg looked at him, and before either man knew what was happening, they were kissing, gently, sweetly and slowly. They broke apart and Greg ran his thumb over Nick's cheek. "I suppose now would be a good time to ask you out."_

"_I suppose so," agreed Nick, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face. _

"_Very well. Nicholas Stokes, will you, once your strength is regained, go on a date avec moi, Gregory Sanders?"_

"_Yes," grinned Nick. "Yes, I will."_

"And you've been together ever since," finished Warrick, smiling slightly.

Nick grinned and shook his head. "Not quite." At Warrick's confused glance, he elaborated. "See, Greg was the first guy I've ever…you know, been with."

"Really?" asked Warrick, raising his eyebrows. "Wow. So Greg turned you gay, huh?"

Nick chuckled dryly and rolled his eyes. "He didn't turn me gay," he said, trying not to sound exasperated. "He simply woke in me feelings that I had been denying all my life." He paused and looked straight ahead. "Feelings that I realized I should act on after…you know, the coffin."

Warrick smiled gently. "Chill man, I was joking." He paused, then groaned. "Ok, so I'm gonna pull a Cath on you, but I'm dying to know…where'd you go on your first date?"

Laughing aloud, Nick grinned at the memory. "Greg wouldn't tell me at first," he recalled. "He wanted it to be a surprise. He was a perfect gentleman…"

_It was ten minutes before Greg was supposed to pick him up, and Nick was panicking. What was he supposed to wear? He had gone through his entire selection of button-downs and t-shirts with no avail, finding absolutely nothing he wanted to wear. Sighing, he rubbed his forehead. What would Greg wear?_

_An involuntary smile tugged at the corners of Nick's mouth as he pictured the ex-lab rat in one of his loud t-shirts, listening to equally loud music. He realized that Greg wouldn't care what he wore, so he grabbed a light blue t-shirt and pulled it on. He had just finished tying his shoes when the doorbell rang._

_A bubble of tension rose in Nick's chest as he checked his watch. Right on time. He walked slowly to the front door, opening it to find an equally nervous Greg standing outside, brandishing a huge bouquet of yellow roses. "Pour toi," he said with an exaggerated bow._

_Nick grinned and took them from him. "Merci beaucoup," he said, using the full extent of his French vocabulary. "Why yellow?"_

_Greg shrugged. "Isn't there a song about the yellow rose of Texas?" Nick nodded, chuckling, and Greg said in a horrible southern accent, "Well, baby, you're my yellow rose of Texas."_

_Nick nodded seriously and deadpanned, "And you're my cornball of Las Vegas."_

_Greg just grinned and kissed him gently on the cheek. "Good to know that I'm yours," he said, eyes glowing. "Now, shall we?" He offered Nick his arm._

_Nick took it, trying not to laugh, and asked, "So, where to, Greggo?"_

_Mock-offended, Greg said in a terrible British accent, "'Tis a surprise, noble sir, and 'twould be against me honor if I told ye such a secret." He ushered Nick to the passenger door of his car, opening it and bowing to Nick as he sat down. He then slid across the hood of the car to get in on the driver's side. "You asked where to?" said Greg, grinning. "To paradise, with you."_

"I'm trying to decide if Greg being gentlemanly is surprising or somehow expected," mused Warrick aloud. "The corny part was definitely expected, but a gentleman...?"

Nick grinned. "He was very much the gentleman all night," he said. "He pulled out my chair for me at Chez Pierre—"

"Oo, quite an expensive restuarant!" exclaimed Warrick.

"—And let me go first in bowling," finished Nick.

"Bowling?" laughed Warrick. "That was Greggo's idea of a romantic first date?"

Nick glared at him. "In his defense, he wanted to take me line-dancing, but the place was closed, so we did what we could." He smiled wistfully. "It was a lot of fun."

"So, when did you two move in together?" asked Warrick.

Nick started laughing. "It kinda happened by accident," he said, grinning. "See, Greg got kicked out of his apartment and needed a place to crash, and then he left his iPod at work and Hodges brought it over…"

_Greg hung up his cell phone and settled back in on the couch, reaching with one hand for his PS2 controller and the other for his beer. "Hodges is dropping by," he informed Nick, taking a pull on a beer. "I left my iPod at work."_

_Nick shrugged, reaching for his own controller. "Fine by me," he said, stifling a yawn. He looked forlornly at the paused game. "G, you are kicking my ass in Need for Speed. Why am I even still playing?"_

"_Hey, you pwned me yesterday in Madden, remember?" said Greg defensively. "And I stuck it out for all four quarters. The least you could do is finish this race."_

_Nick rolled his eyes but unpaused the game, "Remind me again why I'm letting you stay here," he muttered._

"_Because I'm your boyfriend and my landlord's a douche," said Greg calmly as he proceeded to lap Nick for the second time. "And Nicky, you wouldn't be losing so badly if you stopped crashing into walls."_

"_G, you can't blame your landlord for your neighbor's complaints about loud music at 3 AM," Nick reminded him, pressing a button on his controller. "And playing this game is not as easy as it looks."_

"_Ok, so the music was my fault," admitted Greg as he steered his car through a hairpin turn, "but he could've given me another chance! And now you know how I felt yesterday during Madden."_

"_He gave you five warnings," Nick pointed out. "And two of them were 'final' notices. And Madden's all strategy; if you didn't always run the same play, you might realize that."_

_Greg scowled as he deftly evaded a pursuing police officer by turning down a hidden shortcut. "Ok, fine, it was all my fault, happy? But it wasn't like I wasn't staying here most of the time anyway. And I happen to be very fond of the 'Hail Mary' play; brings out the good Catholic in me."_

_Nick stared at him. "Greg, you were raised Lutheran."_

_Greg shrugged as he crossed the finish line. "Lutheran, Catholic, it's all the same to me."_

_Blinking at him, Nick shrugged and stretched. "Alright, Greggo, I admit, you are Supreme Master of Need for Speed."_

_Greg smirked and held out his hand. "That was only half the bet, friend," he said cheekily. "Pay up."_

_Nick groaned and dug a crumpled twenty from his pocket. "Here," he grumbled standing and stretching before shuffling toward the kitchen. "Now I need a beer."_

_The doorbell rang and Greg called, "I'll get it!" He went to the front door and threw it open. "David!" he said cheerfully._

_Hodges glared at him. "Don't call me David," he said sullenly, thrusting Greg's iPod at him._

"_Aw, shucks, David, that's so nice of you," said Greg flirtatiously, batting his eyelashes at him._

"_Hey Hodges!" called Nick in greeting from the kitchen. "Greg, we need more beer!"_

"_Put it on the grocery list!" shouted Greg back, rolling his eyes. "You're the one in the kitchen."_

_Nick came out of the kitchen, opening a beer. "Put it on the list yourself," he retorted._

_Hodges looked from Greg to Nick, a light seeming to go on in his head. "So, are you two…?" he started, trailing off._

_Greg and Nick shared a quick look before Nick blurted out, "Oh, we're not—"_

_At the same time, Greg started, "It's not—" He stopped and looked at Nick, a small smile on his face. "Would you like to explain it, or shall I?"_

_Nick visibly relaxed, a smile forming on his own features. "Greg's only staying here temporarily, until he finds a new apartment. See, he was just kicked out of his old one—"_

"_Unfairly evicted," corrected Greg, giving him a look._

"_**Unfairly evicted** from his old apartment," amended Nick, rolling his yes, "and he needed a place to stay for a few weeks, and I've got plenty of room here, so…"_

"_I pay rent," said Greg, picking up when Nick trailed off. "And I buy groceries and cook and—"_

"_If you can call that cooking," snorted Nick._

_Greg gave him a dirty look. "I do call it cooking," he snapped, glaring at the Texan, who merely rolled his eyes._

"_G, most people don't equate cooking with ramen noodles and burnt toast," said Nick patiently. "Most chefs would never consume the same foods you seem to inhale, let alone pride themselves on the ability to make them."_

"_Either way," continued Greg through clenched teeth, "it's a _nice, **pleasant**_ living situation." He paused. "Even if Nick does hide his porn stash in the guest bedroom."_

"_Greg!" yelped Nick in a strangled voice, turning bright red._

_Hodges watched this entire exchange with a small smile on his face and a strange look in his eyes. "Well," he said loudly, "as fascinating as Nick's self-love life undoubtedly is, I think it's time for me to take my leave."_

"_Bye David!" said Greg cheerfully. "Thanks for bringing me my iPod!"_

_Hodges waved once and left, shutting the door behind him. Greg looked at Nick. "You don't think he knows, do you?"_

_Nick snorted. "Nah…what could've possibly given it away?" _

"So then, what, Greg just never really left?"

Nick sobered quickly. "He almost did," he said quietly. "It was right after the Kelly Gordon thing…remember, when she committed suicide?"

"I remember," said Warrick quietly.

"Yeah, I had just gotten home from work, and Greg was there and we had a huge fight and it was just horrible."

Frowning, Warrick asked, "What did you two fight about?"

Nick blushed and looked down. "I couldn't tell him that I loved him," he whispered, blushing. "So he got mad at me and said that until I was no longer ashamed of our relationship, we no longer had a relationship. And then he said he was leaving…"

"_Greg, don't…don't go," said Nick softly, dark eyes pleading. "Stay here, with me."_

"_Nick—" started Greg with a sigh, but Nick cut him off._

"_For free. No rent, no groceries, no cooking. Just you and me. And maybe we can even get that little dog you wanted." He paused, still looking at him. "Please."_

"_Move in with you permanently?" asked Greg, just as softly. "Why would you want me to move in with you?"_

_Nick exhaled heavily; the conversation was obviously not going the way he planned. "I think you know why people ask someone to move in with them," he said dryly._

_Greg stepped closer to him. "I know why 'people' do, yeah, but why are you?" Nick didn't say anything, looking away and swallowing hard. Greg moved in closer. "Say it," he breathed, taking Nick's hand. He met Nick's gaze, eyes searching his. "Three words, Nicky," he whispered, tears threatening to spill over. "That's all I've ever wanted. Three words."_

"_I…I can't," whispered Nick, looking away again. _

_Greg swallowed hard and dropped Nick's hand. "Fine," he said flatly, turning to leave. "I'll see you at work."_

"_Wait," said Nick, grabbing Greg's arm. Greg turned and looked back at him, carefully controlled expression masking whatever he felt. "G, I…" started Nick, stammering slightly as he looked into Greg's eyes. "I love you."_

_Greg stared at him, not moving, eyes searching his. He mouthed the words to himself and then tears overflowed. Closing the distance between them in one stride, Greg kissed Nick so hungrily, so passionately that Nick almost fell backwards._

"_Whoa, G!" laughed Nick, pushing him away gently. "Let's slow down for a second, cowboy. I think you've got four words of your own to say to me now."_

_Greg just grinned. "I love you, too," he whispered, leaning in and kissing him again. "Forever and always. I love you."_

"And then Greg just never really left," finished Nick, tears in his eyes as he remembered that. "He kept his apartment to crash at and as a decoy, but he made my place his primary residence—meaning he kept all his hair products there."

They both fell silent as they passed a sign that said Pasadena, their destination, was in twenty miles. "Thank you," said Warrick softly.

"For what?" asked Nick, confused.

Warrick met his eye. "Now I know exactly what I'm fighting for."


	6. Day 2, Part 2

_**A/N:** So, another chapter. Yay. Gosh-darned freaking line-break-thing still isn't working, so once again, when you see "_**_CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION_**" _it denotes a break in the story. Usual disclaimer; I don't own 'em, but I do own Vince. Please read and review! _

Chapter Five

"_Oh, we're halfway there  
Oh-oh, livin' on a prayer"_

Nick parked outside of the nice-sized house in Pasadena, California. He and Warrick shared somber glances as they sized up the house of a possible murderer. Warrick looked quizzically at Nick. "You said that only one guy lives here?"

Shrugging, Nick replied, "That's what Brass told me. Just Vincent G. Doziglia."

Warrick nodded slowly as he looked back at the house. "Awfully big place for one guy," he remarked. "Wonder what he's got in there."

"Wonder what he's got hidden in there," muttered Nick darkly.

Glancing back at Nick, Warrick said gently, "Hey, if this is our guy, we'll get him, alright? And even if not, we will find who did this."

Nick smiled his wordless thanks as Brass' car pulled up behind them. Warrick and Nick got out, meeting up with Brass between the cars. "Ok, so quick background before we go in," said Brass. "Our guy's a chemical engineer who currently works for a cosmetics company."

"A chemical engineer?" interrupted Nick, a dark look in his eyes.

"Innocent til proven guilty, Nick," chided Brass, only half-joking. "He's thirty-five, not married, no criminal record. Used to work for a small company called CaliTech before it went under a year ago. Has no apparent connection to the vic except for his home address and the fact that he's a constituent."

"Alright, let's go," said Warrick firmly. The three of them walked up to the front door. Warrick rand the doorbell and stepped back.

A moment or two later, the door opened to reveal a tall, skinny man. He had semi-long brown hair cut stylishly to fall over one eye. His clothes, a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt, were neatly pressed and coordinated perfectly. He blinked at them once before asking in a slightly high-pitched voice, "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

Brass showed him his badge. "Mr. Doziglia? Las Vegas Police. I'm Detective Jim Brass and this is Mr. Stokes and Mr. Brown. He paused. "May we come in?"

"Certainly," said Vincent, surprised. "And please, call me Vince." He ushered them into the house, closing the door behind them. "Las Vegas, huh? You're a long way from home."

He showed them into a spacious living room. Once they were seated, he asked politely, "May I get you anything to drink?"

"Uh, no thanks, Mr. Doziglia," said Nick, frowning.

Vince flashed him a smile and a wink. "Please, gorgeous, call me Vince," he said, patting him on the knee. He draped one long leg over his other and studied them. "Now, what's this all about?"

Nick leaned forward, frowning even deeper. "Mr. Doziglia, Mr. Brown and I are with the Las Vegas Crime Lab, and we're investigating a lead in a homicide."

Hand flying to his mouth, Vince gasped loudly. "A homicide?" he asked, eyes wide. "Who was murdered? Did I know him? Am I…am I a suspect?"

Warrick cut in. "You're not a suspect, Mr. Doziglia. We just want to ask you some questions about the death of Senator O'Neil."

"Oh, said Vince sounding relieved. "Yeah, I heard about that on the news. Well, feel free to ask me anything, for all the help I'll be." He paused before saying wistfully, "He was such a good man. An inspiration to people like me."

"People like you?" questioned Nick.

Vince gave him a small, appraising smile. "Oh, you know, hun, men like me." He had his hand back on Nick's knee. "I don't know what you call them in Vegas, but here, we refer to ourselves as 'homosexuals.'"

Nick politely removed Vince's hand from his knee. "We have gay people in Vegas, too, Mr. Doziglia," he said quietly, eyes darkening.

Sighing, Vince said exasperatedly, "Please, call me Vince." He looked at Warrick. "I'm sensing a lot of negative chi from him," he said, nodding in Nick's direction.

As Nick opened his mouth to make an angry retort, Warrick said quickly, "I'm sure Mr. Stokes doesn't mean to be negative." He shot Nick a warning look before continuing smoothly, "Senator O'Neil received a threatening letter from this address. Do you know anything about it?"

Startled, Vince repeated, "A letter? From here?" He frowned and shook his head. "No, I'm certain that I never sent the Senator any letters."

"Are you sure?" asked Nick, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice.

"I'm quite positive." Vince frowned before shaking his head again. "I'm terribly sorry that I can't be of more help."

Warrick nodded and stood, offering Vince his hand. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Doziglia." Nick and Brass stood as well, each shaking his hand.

"Oh, it was no problem," said Vince warmly, hand lingering just a moment too long on Nick's. "I just wish I could be more helpful."

Brass stopped. "One more thing before we go. Does anyone have access to your address? Or does anyone have a grudge against you?"

Vince shrugged helplessly. "Anyone with access to the Pasadena phonebook, I'm afraid. My address is in there. And as far as grudges go…" He shrugged again. "Working for a cosmetics company doesn't tend to be the kind of job that would form grudges."

Sighing, Brass nodded. "Alright, thank you." The three left the house, walking slowly back to their cars.

"Good-bye!" called Vince after them before shutting his door.

Nick sighed despairingly and looked at the ground, holding back tears. "So, I guess we're back to square one," he said hollowly.

"I guess so," agreed Warrick slowly. "Damn."

Suddenly, Nick's cell phone rang. He fished it out of his jeans pocket and said, "Stokes."

"Nick?" said Grissom's voice on the other end. "Now, I don't want you to worry, but Greg had a little accident…"

**_CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION_ **

A few hours later, having made it back to Vegas in record time, Nick practically ran into the morgue, shouting, "Greg, where are you? Are you ok?"

An abashed Greg grinned sheepishly at him, holding an icepack to his head. "Hi, Nicky," he said.

"Oh, thank God," whispered Nick, rushing to him and pulling him into a rough hug. "I was so worried! When Grissom called and said there'd been an accident—"

"You probably should've let me finish explaining," said Grissom dryly from the doorway. "I would've told you what had happened."

Nick looked at Greg. "What did happen?" he asked, looking under the icepack at the scrape on Greg's head.

"He sustained slight subdermal bruising and a small abrasion above his occipital bone consistent with a fall," supplied Grissom.

"Meaning ickle Greggy fell down and hit his wittle head," said Greg, smiling. His smile faded into a wince. "And it hurts like a bitch."

Nick tried to suppress a smile but failed miserably. "That tends to happen when you fall and crack your head open," he said dryly, still looking at Greg concernedly. Switching his gaze to Grissom, he asked, "Any signs of a concussion?"

Grissom met his eyes with a bemused look on his face. "None thus far," he said. "Al and I have been monitoring him, just in case."

"I don't need monitoring," grumbled Greg, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at Grissom. "I can take care of myself."

A brief look flitted over Grissom's face, but Nick couldn't tell if it was concern or something else. "Can I speak to you in private?" Grissom asked Nick quietly. Nick nodded silently and kissed Greg once on the forehead before following Grissom out. Grissom turned to face him, blue eyes showing concern that he hadn't let show before. "Nicky, his tremors are getting more frequent."

Nick frowned, eyes darkening. "How often?" he asked quietly.

"About every 25-30 minutes," replied Grissom.

"Shit," whispered Nick. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Nodding once, he looked at Grissom, an intense anger burning in his eyes. "We've got to find that antidote," he growled. "Before it's too late."

Grissom nodded. "I know." He paused. "Did you have any luck with the address?" he asked hopefully.

Nick shook his head mutely, looking back through the window at Greg's forlorn shape hunched up on the cot. Grissom sighed. "Don't give up on him, Nick," he said softly. "He's a lot stronger than any of us realize."

Nick looked up sharply. "I'm not giving up on him," he said, firmly and quietly. "I could never give up on him." He paused and looked away from Grissom, suddenly embarrassed. "I love him," he whispered, almost surprised to hear himself telling his boss this, surprised that he was placing his trust in Gil Grissom, the man seemingly incapable of human emotion, who handled everything with stoic realism.

But when he met Grissom's eyes, he was startled to see a gentle look of compassion on his face. "I know, Nick," said Grissom softly. "I know."

Nodding once, Nick took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I'm gonna go back in," he said after a moment.

Grissom nodded as well. "Is there anything you guys need?" he asked.

Suddenly, Nick grinned. "Yeah," he said, still grinning. "We'd really like a bigger bed."

**_CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION_ **

Miraculously, Grissom managed to procure an air mattress from somewhere and presented it promptly to them. Nick and Greg had then, of course, locked the door and given it a thorough and fantastic test run.

Afterwards, Nick and Greg lay curled up together on the bed. Nick had just finished telling Greg about his day and what had happened in California. "So anyway," he sighed, running a hand through Greg's hair, "it seems like we're back at the beginning for now. We've got no suspects, next to no evidence, and no idea where to begin looking."

Greg frowned slightly. "Well," he said quietly, tracing patterns on Nick's skin with his finger, "go back to what you do have." At Nick's quizzical glance, he elaborated. "The evidence."

Sighing again, Nick said slowly, "Sometime Monday the Senator received an anonymous letter laced with so-called 'solution x', a biological warfare drug produced by BioTech, who reported the drug and antidote stolen a month ago. Senator O'Neil suffered a series of convulsions in the early hours of Tuesday the 9th before dying. COD was combination massive muscle death, heart failure and severe depletion of the _substantia nigra_. The anonymous letter was traced to a return address in Pasadena, California, but the resident appeared to have no connection to the vic nor any motive for murder." He paused and looked over at Greg. "Did I muss anything?"

Greg was silent for a moment. 'The condoms and sheets we collected at the hotel room…any results from those?"

"Nothing helpful," replied Nick, rubbing his face tiredly. "Semen in the condoms belonged to Senator O'Neil; semen on the sheets was Marty Resner's." He sighed. "Just another dead end."

"Ok, so let's go back to the only tangible connection to the killer we have," said Greg, snuggling in closer to Nick. "The letter. What did it say?"

Nick blinked at him incredulously. "Would you like me to recite it from memory?" he asked sarcastically.

Greg rolled his eyes and reached over to grab a file folder. "Never mind, I had Grissom drop a copy of the case file off for me."

"Light reading, huh?" quipped Nick, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Ha, ha, you're a regular laugh riot," said Greg mordantly as he leafed through the file. "And here we are." He pulled out a copy of the threatening letter, looking at it closely. He read it out loud for Nick. "Dear Mr. O'Neil, You are a disgrace to the state and to the United States Senate. Your very existence mars the reputation that this state has. Not only should you, fag, and your cock-sucking boyfriend be shot, but you will also rot in Hell for eternity. In lieu of hunting you down and killing you myself, I've sent you this. Give Satan my regards, fag. Sincerely yours, A God-Loving Citizen." He put the note down and looked thoughtful. "Huh," he said aloud.

"What?" asked Nick, looking at him curiously.

"Well, it was obvious written by a well-educated person," said Greg slowly, "but that's not what interests me." He looked back at the paper. "Notice the use of the words 'fag' and 'cock-sucking'."

"Yeah, so the writer hates gay people," said Nick with a frown. "So what?"

"The use of the words in this way may show that the killer doesn't really hate gay people," said Greg calmly. "He uses it as if to try and convince us, or himself, that he hates the Senator because he's gay, but that's not the reason." He frowned and peered at the note. "It's too personal, too much like an insult thrown at someone in an argument, not a death threat."

Nick frowned deeply. "But if he doesn't hate gay people, why else would he want to kill the Senator?" he questioned, raising one eyebrow.

Greg shrugged. "I dunno." He paused, then pointed at the signature. "This interests me, too. 'A God-Loving Citizen'. It seems significant. The word choice is purposeful and deliberate." He paused again. "Why those words? They'd imply a religious person, but a true religious zealot is much more likely to quote the bible than toss in abstract references to damnation." He shrugged again. "That's just what I think."

Nick stared at him. "Greg Sanders, you are becoming one amazing CSI. I doubt that Grissom could've come up with that."

Ducking his head and blushing, Greg said modestly, "I had a friend who profiled letters for the FBI. And I had some amazing mentors."

Pulling him close and kissing him on the forehead, Nick whispered, "Yeah, but you've got natural ability." He kissed him again, this time on the lips, and said, "Why don't we go to bed now? We can worry about this in the morning."

Greg sighed reluctantly. "Alright," he said, snuggling into Nick. A minute or two later, he said aloud, "'A God-Loving Citizen' could stand for something. Or it could be an anagram."

"It could," agreed Nick sleepily, nuzzling Greg's shoulder, "but I'm far too tired to worry about that right now. Let's just sleep."

Sighing again, Greg closed his eyes and settled back, trying to shake the notion that for a second, he had felt like he'd had something…


	7. Day 3, Part 1

_**A/N: **Shorter chapter this time around, sorry, but it sets up pretty much the rest of the story. Once again, "_**_CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION" _**_denotes a break in the chapter. Uh, apologies to any people of Italian descent..you'll see why when you read it. Italics, this time around, denote what Nicky's thinking. Oh, and the rest of the CSI cast (or majority of it, anyway) should feature in the next few chapters. I know these past few have focused mainly on Nicky and Greggo, but, well, the story IS about them. Usual disclaimer applies...I'll try to get the next chapter up within a week, but no promises. Now, read on!  
_

Chapter Six

"_Take my hand  
We'll make it I swear"_

Nick woke up very early the next morning. He squinted at his watch and winced. Three o'clock in the freakin' morning…Sighing, he sat up slowly so as to not wake Greg and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

It had been a long day yesterday, and not a very satisfying one at that. He sighed again and laid back against the bed, carefully drawing Greg back to him.

It always amazed Nick to watch Greg when he slept. He hadn't known what to expect the first time they slept together, but it certainly hadn't been this. He'd expected tossing and turning, the insatiable energy that Greg showed during the day to come out at night time. Instead, Greg slept like a log, rarely moving and hardly ever waking in the middle of the night. In fact, Nick was fairly certain that he could sleep through a tornado.

Nick looked down at the sleeping man who had his arms wrapped around Nick's waist. Leaning down, Nick placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, smoothing the fine, blond-ish hairs away from his eyes. It was times like these when Nick could almost convince himself that Greg was fine, that this whole thing had been some kind of bad dream.

Then, inevitably, Greg would start shaking like now. A tremor seized his body, and while he slept right through it, his previously peaceful face contorted as if he was in pain. Nick gathered Greg's sleeping form closer to him, rocking him gently until the shaking subsided.

Closing his eyes, Nick tried to relax and fall back asleep, but he couldn't get his last conversation with Greg out of his head for some reason. _"'A God-Loving Citizen' could stand for something. Or it could be an anagram."_

Yeah, it could be an anagram, but what for? Those letters weren't exactly common. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. _Hm, let's see…_ he thought. _Anagrams…anagrams…Diggle Conniv Toazi? Not so much. Coniving Legoz Dia? Once again, an astounding no. Victon Gioz Leading? None of these even made sense at all._

Nick sighed and rubbed his temples. This should not be this hard. _Maybe it was a name?_ he thought, running a hand through his hair. _Gavin Ced Gillnootz? Zac Degato Vilino? Vince Dagoon Tiligz?_

Suddenly, he sat straight up, unable to believe it. "Vincent G. Doziglia," he breathed. "A God-Loving Citizen." Just as suddenly, he deflated. "No," he murmured, closing his eyes and sighing again. "It's missing an 'o'."

But still, it was so close…too close. He could practically hear Grissom chiding, _"There's no such thing as a coincidence…"_

Nick frowned. It had to have something to do with their dear friend Vincent, but what? He reached over Greg carefully to grab the case file from its position on the floor. He opened it and flipped to the printout on Vincent.

He stared at it, hardly daring to believe his luck. Right under the bold name across the top was a smaller name, the "birth name". And that birth name was not Vincent G. Doziglia. It was **_Vincento_** G. Doziglia.

"Yes," breathed Nick, feeling lighter than he had in days. "Yes, yes, Yes, YES!" He turned to Greg, shaking him to wake him up. "Greg…Greggo! Wake up, baby, there's something I need to tell you."

"Mmph," was Greg's muffled response as he buried his head deeper into the pillow. "'M sleeping."

Nick just laughed and pulled the half-asleep CSI into a sitting position. "Come on, sleepy head. This is far too important for you to sleep through, I promise."

Greg groaned wearily and opened one eye to glare at Nick. "This had better be good," he grumbled, closing his eye again. "I was in the middle of a really great dream involving you, me, Ballistics Joe and liquid latex."

Pausing only for a second to give Greg a bewildered look, Nick quickly shook his head and barreled on. "I was thinking about what you said…about 'A God-Loving Citizen' being an anagram. And I think I've figured out who the writer is."

He paused for effect, clearly waiting for Greg's reaction. "Well, no need to keep me hanging," said Greg dryly. "I mean, the suspense is just killing me." He paused, then laughed. "Ha, I made a funny! Get it; killing me?"

Nick frowned at him. "C'mon, this is serious," he said, taking Greg's hand and squeezing it. "Tell me, would it mean anything if I told you Vincent's real name is Vincento?"

Thinking for a second, Greg shrugged. "So what, Vincent's a dago?" he yawned, leaning back against the bed. "Good to know. I'll send him some lasagna for Christmas."

"Think, Greg," said Nick earnestly, grasping Greg's shoulders. "Vincento G. Doziglia."

It took Greg's sleep-numbed mind almost a minute to figure it out, but once he did, the look of amazement on his face was priceless. "Vincento G. Doziglia. A God-Loving Citizen. That's why the letter didn't seem to fit!" he exclaimed, bouncing on the bed in excitement. "Vincent obviously doesn't hate gay people; he is one!" His expression sobered into earnest determination. "Did you call Grissom? Or Brass?"

Nick grinned and pulled out his cell phone, offering it to Greg. "I was waiting for you to do the honors."

Greg grinned and dialed Grissom's number. "Griss, it's Greg." He paused, then grinned wickedly. "Tell me, how good are you at word games?"

**_CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION_**

Less then an hour later, Nick found himself in Grissom's office. The feeling of elation that he had previously felt was quickly fizzling. "I don't know, Nicky," said Grissom slowly. "His name's an anagram, sure, but you yourself said there was no motive."

"And you once told me that we don't deal in motive, that we only follow the evidence," countered Nick. "Well, the evidence is pointing at Vince."

Grissom sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Nicky, I want nothing more than to get this guy, but we have to be realistic. From a legal stand point, we just don't have the grounds to bring him in for questioning. Not across state lines."

"C'mon, Grissom!" said Nick desperately. "His name's an anagram for the elusive signature, the letter came from his house and by poisoning Greg, he technically attacked an officer."

"But nobody knows about that," Grissom pointed out, looking over his glasses at Nick. He sighed again. "I truly am sorry, but without something more concrete…"

"Damnit," muttered Nick, staring down at the desk, anger welling in him. "That's just not good enough."

A knock sounded on the door and Brass strolled in, looking triumphant. "Maybe I can throw you a bone. I put a detail on our friend Vince, mainly 'cause I didn't like him, and get this…our guy disappeared from his house around two o'clock this morning, reportedly heading towards Nevada. I've got an APB out on him and his car." He smirked at Grissom. "Think you've got enough to bring him in now?"

Smiling as well, Grissom turned to Nick. "Alright, there you go. But I need you to find something stronger to tie Vincent to this crime."

Nick just nodded, already pulling out his cell phone. He dialed Sara's number. "Hey, Sara, it's Nick. I need you to do me a favor. Call Cath and Warrick and tell them to get over here ASAP. I need to know everything there is to know about Vincent G. Doziglia: who he's sleeping with, where his family is, his favorite restaurant, what color underwear he wears, everything. Also, find me all records for a Vincento G. Doziglia. Thanks, Sara. I'll be over shortly to give you a hand." He hung up, grinning broadly. "Excellent. This is great. I gotta go tell Greg; he's gonna be so excited."

He started to leave, but Grissom stopped him. "Nicky, don't you think it's a little early to be celebrating?"

Nick met his eyes. "Maybe," he said quietly, "but there's hope now, and that's cause enough for celebration."


	8. Day 3, Part 2, Day 4

**_A/N:_**_ Woohoo, another chapter! Rock. And this one's back up above 2000 words. Yay. Um...not too much to say about this one. Fairly self-explanitory, if you ask me. Just one thing: this chapter covers the span of two days instead of the usual one. Just so you know. Oh, and the line thing still doesn't work, so "_**_CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION_**_" indicates a break in the chapter. Also, I don't own Grass Valley, CA. It is an actual place, though. So yay. Usual disclaimer applies. Onward, faithful ones!  
_

Chapter Seven

"_Oh-oh, Livin' on a prayer"_

Nick strolled into the crime lab at eight o'clock that morning, whistling and sipping his coffee. He smiled at Judy before making his way to the break room to find Catherine, Warrick and Sara. "Morning, everyone," he said cheerfully as he slid into a seat.

Warrick gave him an appraising look and a small smile. "You look happy, man," he commented.

Shrugging and grinning, Nick said, "I went home, showered, changed, shaved, got some breakfast. Having hope changes your entire outlook on things."

Sara blinked at him, bleary-eyed. "Well, hope may be good, but it is certainly not helping us solve this. There is no connection between Vince Doziglia and Patrick O'Neil. As far as we can tell, they've never even met before."

Nick frowned. "There has to be a connection," he reminded her. "He wouldn't have fled if he hadn't written the note. We just have to find that connection." He sighed and leaned forward. "Walk me through his life. Maybe we can find something."

Sara sighed as well. "Alright…Vincento Giovanni Doziglia was born September 24, 1974 to Carmine and Juana Doziglia in New York City. Carmine wanted to name Vince after his father, Vincenzo Doziglia, but Juana wanted to name him after her father, Vicente Rodriguez. They compromised."

"Fascinating," said Catherine dryly, running a hand through her hair, "but I doubt the roots of Vincent's name are really going to help us."

Giving Cath a dirty look, Sara continued. "Carmine Doziglia died when Vince was 6, and that year Juana and Vince moved to LA. Juana worked three jobs to put Vince through school, and he got a full ride to UCLA in 1991."

"Wait, that's a year early," interjected Nick, frowning. "He skipped a grade?"

"Um, yeah," said Sara, checking the file. "He skipped fifth grade. At UCLA, he majored in chemical engineering with an emphasis on biochemistry. Apparently, they didn't have Biochemical engineering major at that time. Uh…he moved from LA to Grass Valley, California and lived there until he moved back to LA in 2001. He got a job with CaliTech in 1998, and commuted from Grass Valley to LA while he lived there. CaliTech went under in 2005, and Vince has since been working at a cosmetics company."

Nick nodded slowly, a crease in his forehead as he tried to remember where he had heard of Grass Valley. "Did you pull up the records on CaliTech?" he asked absently.

"We have them," said Catherine, "we just haven't had a chance to look at them." She looked closely at Nick. "What're you thinking, Nicky?"

He didn't answer right away. "I'm thinking six degrees of separation."

"Right," said Catherine, nodding. "We're all connected through six people. Vince may never have known the Senator, but he might've known someone close to the Senator." She frowned at Nick. "But who do you think Vince knew?"

Nick smiled slowly. "Grass Valley is an awfully small town that's a little too far away from LA to make it a natural move for Vince if he had a job in LA. So what makes someone move away from their job?" He looked around at everyone's confused faces and grinned. "Because he moved with someone who grew up in Grass Valley, someone who wanted to move back home after graduating from UCLA."

"Who?" asked Warrick.

Nick smiled. "Marty Resner, the Senator's partner."

**_CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION_**

Brass sat in the interrogation room and folded his hands in front of him, looking at the man across the table. Marty Resner didn't look any better than he had when Brass had interviewed him at the crime scene; if anything, he looked worse. His eyes were red and puffy from crying, ringed by dark circles that indicated lack of sleep. Brass cleared his throat. "Mr. Resner," he began, leaning forward. "We brought you in to ask you a few questions."

Marty looked at Nick warily as Nick paced behind Brass. "I've told you everything I know," he said hollowly.

Smiling disarmingly, Brass said, "We don't want to ask you about what happened on the day Senator O'Neil died. We want to ask you about when you lived in Grass Valley."

Frowning deeply, Marty shrugged, looking confused. "Sure, what do you want to know?"

Nick slid the file folder across the table to him, opened to Vince's picture. "Mr. Resner, do you know this man?"

Marty looked at the picture and shrugged again. "Sure. That's Vince, an ex-boyfriend. He and I lived together in Grass Valley until 2001, when I left him."

"If you don't mind me asking, why'd you leave him?" asked Nick, sitting down next to Brass at the table.

Marty sighed. "We wanted different things," he said quietly, staring off into the distance. "I wanted commitment. Vince was more committed to his job than me. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore, so I left. Two months later, I met Pat, and we've been together ever since."

Nick nodded once before asking, "Mr. Resner, after you and Vince split up, did he ever contact you?"

Nodding slowly, Marty said, "Yeah, a bunch of times when I first left. Then a couple of weeks ago, I got a letter from him, saying he wanted me back and he was sorry for everything he'd ever done." He paused and looked up at Nick, confusion on his face. "Why, what's this about? Did Vince have something to do with Pat's death?"

Nick and Brass exchanged looks. "Marty," said Nick gently, "we believe Vince sent Patrick a threatening note laced with poison. And you may have just given us the reason why."

Marty looked pale. "He killed Pat because he thought with Pat dead, I'd go back to him," he said quietly, eyes filling with tears.

Suddenly, Nick's beeper went off. He looked at it and said in undertones to Brass, "I gotta go. They found something. Marty can go."

He left and Brass turned back to Marty. "Mr. Resner, you're free to go," he said gently.

Marty looked up at him, eyes wet. "Why did you tell me this?" he asked. "According to the news, you haven't even ruled this a homicide yet. There's something you're not telling me, and I want to know." He paused before adding softly, "I have a right to know."

Brass sighed deeply. "You're right," he said. "You do have a right to know. The poison from the letter was accidentally ingested by one of our CSIs. We're trying to track down Vince, who has the antidote, before our CSI dies as well."

Marty paled even more. "He's dying?" he asked more to himself than Brass. Abruptly, he stood, eyes wide. "This is all my fault," he muttered. "All my fault." He looked at Brass, determination on his face. "I have to fix this," he said, crossing to the door. "I have to make this right before it's too late."

"Mr. Resner!" Brass called after him. "Marty, wait!"

Marty paid no attention as he strode from the police station. Brass sighed. He hoped Marty wasn't going to do anything stupid.

**_CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION_**

Nick walked toward the break room. "Hey, Warrick," he called, frowning. "I was in the middle of something. What was so important that you couldn't tell me on the phone?"

"This," said Warrick smugly. "Vince worked for a highly secretive branch of CaliTech developing potential biological weapons for the United States Military, the same branch that initially developed the formula for Solution X. However, CaliTech was bought out by BioTech before they could produce the solution, and Vince and everyone working on it got canned."

.Nick stared at him, amazed. "That's great," he said, grinning. "BioTech cost him both his relationship and his job. He must really hate them. And he knew what the solution was for and how to use it."

"There's more," said Catherine, grinning as well. "Vince is currently dating a BioTech security guard named Brian Novak, the only security guard who happened to be working on the night the solution was stolen."

Nick smiled fiercely. "Let's bring him in."

**_CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION_**

Greg groaned and tossed his cards down onto the examining table in the morgue that he and Doc Robbins were using for cards. "Doc, how are you so good at Pinochle?"

Doc Robbins smiled as he totaled their scores. "My grandmother taught me when I was little. Excellent woman, my grandmother. Anyway, final score is 135 to 19." He looked over his glasses at Greg. "Good news is, you didn't finish in the hole."

"Yeah, for all the good it did me," said Greg sullenly. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "So, have you got any other games to teach me that your dear, sweet granny taught you?"

"Sure, I could teach you—" started Doc Robbins, but he stopped when Greg started shaking.

Swallowing hard, Greg waved his hand at Doc to signal him to go on. "Don't…stop…just…cuz…I'm…shaking," he stammered, crossing his arms tightly in front of him.

Doc blinked and nodded once. "Anyway, I was thinking I could teach you Euchre. It's similar to Pinochle, so it shouldn't be that hard."

Greg nodded once. "Just…give…me…a…second…to…stop….shaking." Suddenly, he cried out in pain, arms tightening around himself. "Doc…it hurts! Do…something!"

Doc Robbins quickly helped Greg onto one of the tables. "Greg I need you to stay calm. Your serotonin levels are being affected by the poison, and that's why you're in pain. We got a morphine drip from the hospital, but I need you to stay calm so I can put it in, alright?"

Nodding quickly, Greg took deep breaths and tried his hardest to calm down, biting his lip to keep from crying out. Doc Robbins limped over to his desk as fast as he could to grab the morphine drip. He rushed back to Greg and grabbed his arm to look for a vein. "It's been a few years since I've done this, sorry," he said as he poked Greg with the needle. "Dead guys don't need IVs."

He finally found a vein and got it in, and then looked around for an IV stand. When he came up empty, he improvised with the coat rack from his office. "There," he said, looking at Greg carefully. "The morphine should kick in shortly, and you'll probably fall asleep in a few moments."

Greg nodded, his eyes already closing. "Thank…you…" he whispered before he fell asleep.

Doc Robbins looked at the young man with open concern on his face. "Nick, hurry," he whispered, hoping that wherever Nick was, he heard him.

**_CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION_**

It had been eight hours since the police had brought Brian Novak in, and he was refusing to talk. Nick sighed and drained his coffee, tossing the paper cup into the garbage can.

Sara sat down next to him, handing him another coffee. "Here, I thought you might need some more."

Nick took it and looked gratefully at her. "Thanks," he said, drinking half of it in one gulp. He sighed again. "Goddamn fifth amendment," he muttered darkly, glaring at the interrogation room.

Setting her hand on his, Sara asked quietly, "Did you get a hold of Greg?"

Slumping down in his seat, Nick shook his head wearily. "Doc said he was sleeping. He's on a morphine drip, so he'll be out for awhile." He looked up at Sara, pain in his eyes. "I should be there for him."

Sara just wordlessly squeezed his hand. "You're doing the best you can, Nicky," she whispered soothingly. Finishing her coffee, she stood and looked down at Nick. "Wanna take another crack at this guy?"

Nick stood as well. "Sure." They both went into the interrogation room. Sara sat down at the table while Nick remained standing. Fixing Brian with a piercing gaze, Nick asked dryly, "Ready to talk yet?"

Brian just glared at Nick. "Fuckin' pigs," he muttered, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not telling you anything."

Sara leaned forward. "Look, all we want to know is where Vincent is. If you don't tell us, you'll go down for accessory to felony murder."

Shrugging, Brian tilted his chair back onto two legs. "And if I do tell you, I'll still get slammed with at the very least obstruction of justice. The way I see it, it's a lose-lose situation."

Nick was starting to get angry. "Mr. Novak, someone else was infected by that poison. A life is at stake here."

Brain rolled his eyes. "So what? Dude probably deserved it."

He had hardly finished getting the words out before Nick had crossed the floor in two strides, picking Brian up by his throat and slamming him against the wall, holding him by his throat. "You have no right to speak against him," snarled Nick, face only centimeters from Brain's, unrestrained fury leaping in his eyes and etched on his face. "His is better than you will ever know, and he doesn't deserve this."

As Brian squirmed and whimpered in Nick's grasp, a knock sounded on the door. Brass poked his head into the room, raising an eyebrow at Nick. "Am I interrupting something?"

Releasing Brian, Nick turned to face Brass. "No," he said calmly, eyes still dark with anger.

"Good," said Brass, still looking at Nick worriedly. "We found Vincent."

Sara stood excitedly, hope on her face. "You did? Where?"

Brass sighed. "At BioTech. He's holding the antidote and Thomas Wilson, the CEO, hostage."

Nick and Sara looked at each other. It was Nick who vocalized what they were both thinking. "Shit."

**_CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION_**

**_ A/N:_**_ Bit of a cliffie...sorry...  
_


	9. Day 5 and Day 6

_**A/N:** A songfic within a pseudo-songfic! Is it possible? Yep, it sure is. This chapter is based loosely off of _Holding out for a Hero_ by Bonnie Tyler. The lyrics are in _**BOLD**_ and also cleverly denote a break in the chapter. Usual disclaimer applies...other than that, I think that's about it. Sorry this chapter took so long to get up; I got the lead role in my school's fall show and have had rehersals for the past two weeks. Anyway, onward! _

Chapter 8

"_We gotta hold on  
Ready or not  
You live for the fight when that's all that you've got"_

**"Where have all the good men gone  
And where are all the gods?  
Where's the street-wise Hercules  
To fight the rising odds?  
Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?  
Late at night I toss and turn and dream of what I need**_**" **  
_

Nick's car squealed to a stop outside of the BioTech headquarters. He leapt out, keeping low behind the line of squad cars. He crouched down next to one of the SWAT guys and asked hurriedly, "Any news?"

The SWAT guy shrugged and pointed him towards Brass. "I dunno; go ask someone who might."

Nodding once, Nick hurried to where Brass was in the middle of strained conversation with another SWAT guy. Brass looked over at Nick and nodded, indicating he should join them. "Nick, this is Captain Smith in charge of SWAT," said Brass.

Nick nodded cordially at him. "Nick Stokes, Crime Lab," he offered.

Captain Smith nodded at him as well before turning back to Brass. "Jim, I understand your concern, but this is a hostage situation. Someone's life is at stake."

"And if we don't get that antidote," said Brass impatiently, "an officer will lose his life."

Nick's heart dropped. "What's the problem?" he asked quietly, looking at Brass worriedly.

Brass sighed and rubbed his forehead. "About twenty minutes ago, we got a call from Vince. He refuses to release both the CEO and the antidote, and he says if we storm the place, he'll kill the CEO and smash the antidote."

Eyes widening in reality of the situation. Nick switched his gaze to Captain Smith. "Well, what does he want for ransom?" he demanded.

Captain Smith shrugged helplessly. "He didn't give us a list of demands, just a threat of what he would do. We don't know what he wants or why he's doing this."

Brass looked over at Nick, worry etched in his eyes. "You know the most about him," said Brass. "What does he want?"

Frowning deeply, Nick said slowly, 'Everything he's done so far has been a kind of revenge trip. He wanted to make Patrick O'Neil pay for taking Marty, and he wanted to make BioTech pay for taking his job. But I don't…" Suddenly, he trailed off, eyes widening in realization and fear. "He wants to make us pay for figuring it out. He wants to make Greg pay."

Ashen faced, he sank onto the ground, blood pounding in his ears. "He's not going to give up the antidote," he whispered hollowly, the reality of it settling into his stomachs like a load of bricks. "Greg is going to die."

He felt someone pull him up off the ground, and he looked over to see Grissom helping him up with Catherine, Warrick and Sara behind him. "What're you guys doing here?" he asked dazedly.

Warrick raised an eyebrow at him. "What, did you think we were gonna leave you here all by yourself to wait this out?" He gripped Nick's arm and pulled him into a brief hug. "I got your back, remember?'

Nick smiled widely as he hugged Warrick back. "I remember," he said. "I remember." He pulled away and wiped his eyes with one hand. "Thanks."

Sara looked at Grissom and asked, "What do we do now?"

Grissom looked at them all evenly. "We wait." He looked over at the SWAT members checking their guns and ammo and sighed. Looking back at them, he added, "We wait, and we pray."

**"I need a hero  
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night  
He's gotta be strong  
And he's gotta be fast  
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight  
I need a hero  
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light  
He's gotta be sure  
And it's gotta be soon  
And he's gotta be larger than life"  
**

Greg blinked wearily as he woke and looked around him. Still in the morgue, still waiting for a salvation that may never come. He was shaking still, he realized, but not in the violent way he had been before. The pain was duller, too, but whether or not that was due to the morphine, he didn't know. He looked over at Doc Robbins, who was snoring slightly. "Doc," he croaked weakly, then louder. "Doc!"

Doc Robbins woke with a start. 'Oh, you're awake," he said relievedly. "For now at least." He peered closely at Greg. "How're you feeling?"

Greg shrugged. "Better, I guess," he said slowly. "Shaking still, but I don't think that's going to stop, is it?"

Looking sympathetically over his glasses at Greg, Doc Robbins shook his head. "No, I don't think it will." He paused, then asked, "How's the pain?"

"Not as bad," said Greg honestly, "but that'll probably start back up again, too, right?" He didn't wait for Doc Robbins to reply before he asked quietly, "Where's Nick?"

Doc Robbins looked worriedly at him. "Now, I don't want you to be worried, but he's at BioTech. There's a situation there."

Instantly, Greg sat up, alert. "Why, what's happening?" he demanded, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"They found Vince. He's a t BioTech, holding BioTech's CEO and the antidote hostage." Doc Robbins said the words slowly and deliberately, trying to keep Greg calm. "Now, you need to stay calm. There's nothing you can do."

Greg wasn't buying any of it, though. "He's at BioTech with a madman who's holding my only chance at getting out of this alive hostage and I'm supposed to be calm?" exploded Greg, anger and helplessness raging in his eyes. "If I know Nick—and I do—he's going to try everything in his power to get that antidote." A sudden thought struck him and he paled. "He'd even give up his life. He'd sacrifice himself for me." Looking wildly around, he tried to stand. "I've got to stop him. I can't let him do something stupid."

Doc Robbins pushed him back onto the table, putting a shot of something in Greg's IV. "Greg, you need to stay calm. I've given you a sedative, so you'll probably fall asleep shortly." He smoothed the hair off of Greg's forehead with gentle concern. "Nick will be fine," he said softly.

Greg's eyes closed as he slid into a drug-induced sleep, and he whispered, "Nicky…" before he fell asleep.

Doc Robbins sighed and looked over at the clock on the wall, watching despairingly as the red second hand ticked onward. Less than 72 hours. Hope was fading with each tick of the clock.

**"Somewhere after midnight  
In my wildest fantasy  
Somewhere just beyond my reach  
There's someone reaching back for me  
Racing on the thunder and rising with the heat  
It's gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet" **

Nick rubbed his eyes wearily and blinked at his watch. 1:12 AM. Sighing heavily, he squinted through the blackness, straining to see inside the darkened BioTech windows.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned around to see Grissom behind him. "Hey," said Nick softly.

"Hey," replied Grissom. He looked worriedly at Nick. 'You want to get some sleep? I'll take watch if you want."

Nick smiled but shook his head. "I'd love to, but I'd never forgive myself if I miss out the action going down."

"You need to sleep, Nick," said Grissom sternly, concern in his eyes. "You're of no use to Greg if you're dead on your feet."

"I know, I know," sighed Nick, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked up at Grissom. "I just feel so helpless, knowing I can't do anything."

Grissom looked at him sympathetically and said quietly, "You're not Superman, Nick. You're not invincible."

Shaking his head and laughing mirthlessly, Nick said quietly, "I have to be, Griss, because who else will be invincible for Greg? Who else will be his Superman?"

They stood in silence for a few moments until Grissom offered quietly, "I'll get you some coffee then, to keep you awake."

Nick didn't need to say 'thank you'; it was understood. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at the dim outline of the building in front of him. He would be Greg's Superman, even if it killed him.

**"I need a hero  
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night  
He's gotta be strong  
And he's gotta be fast  
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight  
I need a hero  
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light  
He's gotta be sure  
And it's gotta be soon  
And he's gotta be larger than life" **

Doc Robbins sighed deeply. It had been (luckily) a quiet week at the morgue, and as such, he was caught up on his paperwork. He had already tried working out, playing solitaire, and watching Greg sleep. He was bored.

Greg had been asleep for a long time, and if it weren't for the fact that Doc knew he needed to rest, he would've been worried. As it was, he checked about once every half hour to make sure Greg hadn't slipped into a coma.

Sighing again, Doc Robbins unconsciously rubbed his leg, feeling the hint of phantom pain that had plagued him in the years after he'd lost his legs. He glanced over at Greg and sighed deeply.

The autopsy of the Senator had revealed massive muscle death in the legs, and since Greg was already feeling pain, it was quite logical that he would too.

If Greg's legs atrophied, they'd have to be amputated. There was too much risk otherwise. Of course, Doc conceded, if his legs atrophied, chances were that Greg would not live long enough for them to amputate.

Looking back at the clock, Doc Robbins felt his eyes struggle to stay open as he looked back at Greg's peaceful face. It was going to be a long wait.

**"Up where the mountains meet the heavens above  
Out where the lightning splits the sea  
I would swear that there's someone somewhere  
Watching me" **

Nick woke up with a start, blinking rapidly to try and keep himself from falling back asleep. He looked around and wondered aloud, "What time is it?"

Grissom's voice next to him replied, "Nine o'clock in the morning."

Looking over at him, Nick stretched and yawned before asking without thinking, "Where am I?" Suddenly, he remembered, and he closed his mouth and glared at Grissom. "You let me fall asleep," he said accusingly.

Grissom shifted from his position on the curb of the sidewalk and looked guilty. "You were exhausted," he protested. "I knew I couldn't convince you to go home and sleep, so I figured if you fell asleep, I'd just let you."

Nick wanted to be angry with him, but couldn't find it in himself. Grissom had meant well, and truth be told, he _had_ needed the sleep. He settled for glaring mutinously at Grissom instead. "Well, don't make it a habit." He paused before adding, "Hopefully, though, we'll be out of this mess by tonight." Frowning, Grissom gripped his shoulder briefly and said quietly, 'We will, Nicky. We will."

Nick nodded once and stood, brushing off his jeans. "I'm gonna go talk to Brass, see if anything changed overnight," he told Grissom, leaning down to help the older man off the sidewalk.

Nodding as well, Grissom told Nick, "If you want some breakfast, there're bagels over in my car, Oh, and here." He handed Nick a cup of coffee.

Eyebrows raised, Nick smiled gratefully and took a sip. His grateful look turned into one of confusion. "This is Greg's coffee," he said slowly.

Grissom nodded once. "I thought we might all need a reminder of who it is we're fighting for."

Nick smiled slowly, Grissom's words, hauntingly reminiscent of Warrick's, echoing in his mind. _"Who it is we're fighting for."_ He and Grissom headed over to Brass. "Jim, have we got anything?"

"Hey, Nick," said Brass, turning to survey BioTech. "Not much changed while you were off in dream land. We've had no more contact from Vince. He could have killed Thomas and himself, and we wouldn't know about it."

"No," said Nick instantly. "That's not his style. He wants us to pay, so he won't do anything until he knows Greg is dead."

Captain Smith entered the conversation, frowning. "But how does he know that Greg is infected?" he asked. "Did you tell him when you visited him at his house?"

Nick shook his head. "We didn't have to. He sent the letter laced with enough poison to kill fifteen grown men. He had to know that more than one person would get infected, and that we'd search for the antidote."

"Ok, so he knows we won't do anything in case he destroys the antidote," chimed in Brass, rubbing his forehead. "So then—" Suddenly, he stopped, looking past Nick at someone behind him. "Marty, what're you doing here?" he shouted.

Marty Resner crossed over to him, the epitome of grim determination. "Captain Brass," he said, shaking his hand. "I'm here to help out."

Grissom looked at him and frowned deeply. "That's very nice of you, Mr. Resner, but this is a stand off and you're at risk by even being here."

Brass gave him a look and said in softer tones, "I know you want to help, Marty, but it's not your fault. Besides, there's nothing you can do."

Marty smiled sadly and shook his head. "No, there is something I can do. Vince wants me. That's what he's after. If I got to him, I can get him to give up the antidote and the hostage."

"No," said Brass, cutting him off. "It's too risky. You'd be putting yourself into danger, and I can't allow that."

"Wait," said Nick, this time cutting Brass off. "It could work. We put him in a bulletproof vest and send him in, and he could pull it off."

A strange look came over Brass' face and he said softly, "A bulletproof vest is no guarantee."

Nick's heart clenched as he remembered when Brass was shot. Reaching out and touching Brass' arm, he said quietly, "Your situation was different. This time, Marty knows what Vince wants. Otherwise, we're just waiting for Greg to die."

Brass nodded slowly in understanding. "All right," he said hoarsely. He looked critically at Marty. "Are you sure about this?"

Nodding once, Marty said quietly, "Pat's death was my fault. I can't let your CSI, Greg, die—I can't have his blood on my hands, too."

Nick's eyes involuntarily filled with tears and he reached out and grasped Marty's arm in silent thanks before Brass led Marty to get properly suited up. He turned to Grissom, looking as him resolutely. "Are you ok with this?" Grissom nodded once. Nick nodded as well. "I want to go with him. As back up."

"Nick, you can't," said Grissom, frowning deeply. "You could get shot or screw everything up. It's too much of a liability, Nicky." He paused, then his voice softened. "I know you want to do this for Greg, but you can't always be the hero."

"I know," snapped Nick, temper flaring up, "but I have done nothing so far to help Greg. I'm going in there, with or without your permission."

"Nick—" started Grissom, then he paused and seemed to deflate. "Be careful."

Nodding once, Nick strode off to find Brass and Marty, determined to do whatever he could to help Greg.

**"Through the wind and the chill and the rain  
And the storm and the flood  
I can feel his approach  
Like the fire in my blood" **

Thirty minutes later, Nick and Marty were suited up and ready to go in. Nick touched his gun longingly before handing it over to Grissom.

Taking a deep breath, Nick glanced over at Marty, who looked pale. "You ready for this?"

Marty looked back at him, resolute behind his fear. "I have to be. Too much has already happened on my behalf." He looked over at the darkened building, his jaw set. "This ends now."

Nick glanced back at Grissom, who squeezed Nick's shoulder wordlessly. Nick nodded once. "Ok, let's go."

They set off down the driveway towards the front entrance. Marty put his hands up in the air and shouted, "Vince! I know you're in there. It's Marty."

There was a brief silence until Vince called back, "Who's that with you?"

Nick called, "It's Nick Stokes from the crime lab. We met at your house." He paused before adding in a slightly strangled voice, "I was the one with the bad vibe."

"Oh right," said Vince. "The cute one."

Despite how tense the situation was, Marty had to hide a smile as he looked at Nick, who blushed. Marty looked back at the building and said loudly, "Vince come outside. We want to talk to you."

Vince answered dryly, "Yeah, sure, I'll come outside and let myself get captured by the police." He paused. "No, Thomas and I are quite comfortable where we are, aren't we, Thomas?"

A strangled sob from the CEO floated out of the window, followed by Vince's soft laugh. Nick swallowed hard. "Then let us come in there," he suggested. "We have a deal to make with you."

"A deal, huh? You must be getting desperate. Whoever's infected must be getting worse."

Nick's jaw tightened and he opened his mouth angrily to retort, but Marty put his hand on his arm and shook his head warningly. "Come on, Vince, let us come in," he said before adding, "I want to see you. I've missed you."

This did the trick. Vince said reluctantly, "Alright…but any sign of guns or something and Mr. Wilson gets popped in the head."

Looking back at Grissom, Nick nodded once before he and Marty stepped up to the front door. There was a buzz and a click as the electronic lock unlocked and Nick and Marty walked into the lobby.

Vince was in there, holding a gun to Thomas Wilson's head. Unlike most people who had just taken a man hostage, Vince looked calm. He looked over at Nick warily, his gaze softening as his eyes moved to Marty. "What did you want to talk about?"

"We want you to let Mr. Wilson and the antidote go," said Marty, quietly and firmly.

Vince laughed aloud. "Why would I let Thomas and the antidote go? We were just beginning to have fun."

Nick bristled, but managed to keep his voice calm as he said pleadingly, "Please, Vince. Your poison didn't just infect the senator."

Raising one eyebrow, Vince said casually, "I know. I hope it was a police officer."

"It wasn't," said Nick sharply, eyes burning. "He isn't. He's my friend…my boyfriend." He paused then added quietly, "Don't let him die. Don't take him away from me."

Marty stepped in. "Pat took me away from you, I know. He was wrong, and you were right to kill him, so I could come back to you." His voice was soft and persuasive, soothing Vince into believing him. "Greg doesn't need to die, Vince. You don't need to take him away from Nick."

When Vince still didn't look convinced, Marty added, almost inaudibly, "I can't come back to you if you kill Greg. I want to be yours again, I need to be yours, but I can't if you don't give Nick the antidote and Mr. Wilson."

Vince lowered the gun from Thomas' head. "You really mean it?" he breathed, eyes not leaving Marty's. "You really love me?" Marty nodded slowly, and Vince said hungrily, "Tell me you love me."

Marty swallowed hard but didn't look away. "I love you," he whispered. He took one step forward, eyes searching Vince's. "Let it go," he whispered. "It's all over now."

Beginning to cry softly, Vince reached into his pocket and pulled out the vial containing the antidote. Giving it to Marty, he said, "I'm so glad you came back to me."

Marty quickly handed the vial to Nick before taking Vince's hand. "C'mon," he said coaxingly. "Let's go outside, so we can go home."

"Home," muttered Vince dazedly as he followed Marty towards the entrance. "I want to go home."

Keeping up a soft, soothing dialogue with Vince, Marty glanced over at Nick and nodded. Nick nodded back before taking the CEO's arm and saying in undertones, "C'mon, let's get out of here."

The CEO nodded mutely and they both exited after Vince and Marty. The SWAT team stood at the ready on the edge of the property, guns drawn and trained on Vince. As he followed Marty down the driveway.

Vince blinked in the bright light and said, laughing slightly, "Guess the joke's on Pat, huh? Cuz you loved me this whole time."

Something seemed to snap in Marty and he snarled, "No, Vince, the joke's on you. I loved Pat, and I could never love you again."

Vince's eyes flashed and he raised his gun and howled, "You lied to me!" Marty just glared back at him defiantly, daring him to pull the trigger.

A gunshot rang out and Nick pushed the CEO onto the ground, covering him instinctively. He watched in horror as Marty crumpled to the ground, a blossom of red spreading over his shirt.

A burst of shots came from the SWAT team, and Vince fell, gun clattering from his hand. Nick crawled over to Marty and looked down at him. "Jesus," he swore softly.

"Nick," groaned Marty, eyes vacant. "Nick…take the antidote to Greg. Tell him…I'm sorry."

"This wasn't your fault, Marty," said Nick, tearing off a strip of Marty's shirt and pressing it against the wound. "You hold on, alright? The paramedics are coming."

"No," breathed Marty, eyes struggling to stay open. "It's better this way. I can be with Pat now, forever."

Nick blinked back tears as he pressed harder on the gunshot wound, even though he knew it was in vain. He looked Marty in the eyes and whispered, "Thank you."

Nodding once in acceptance, Marty lay his head back against the ground. Nick knew he was dead. He leaned forward and closed Marty's now-sightless eyes. "Thank you."

** "I need a hero  
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night  
He's gotta be strong  
And he's gotta be fast  
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight  
I need a hero  
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light  
He's gotta be sure  
And it's gotta be soon  
And he's gotta be larger than life" **

Doc Robbins yawned and glanced at his watch. He stood stiffly and shuffled over to Greg. He pulled out his mini-flashlight and flickered the light at Greg's eyes. No reaction. Frowning, he did it again. Still nothing.

Suddenly, Greg's body started seizing violently. He began making choking sounds and Doc quickly realized he wasn't breathing.

"David, call 9-1-1!" he shouted at his assistant as he began CPR. "Come on, Greggo, stay with me," he said angrily as he kept up his compressions.

Greg's body suddenly stopped seizing, and his eyes closed as he went limp…

**"I need a hero  
I'm holding out for a hero til the end of the night"**

**_A/N:_**_ Cliffie...again...sorry._


	10. Day 7

_**A/N:** So...apologies for the cliffie last time (I know, I know, I'm evil). Anyway, because everyone reviewed so promptly (and violently, I might add), and since this week has not killed me, I decided to post the next chapter as a little treat. Um...not too much to say...italics in the chapter indicate thoughts/dreams. Usual disclaimer applies...read on!_

Chapter Nine

"_Oh, we're halfway there  
Oh-oh, livin' on a prayer"_

Nick's car pulled into the parking lot by the morgue entrance with an earsplitting squeal, the blue and red lights from the ambulance parked outside flashing in his eyes. He jumped out of the car and ran towards the door just in time to see the paramedics rushing Greg out of the morgue.

One paramedic stopped him. "I'm sorry, sir, but you can't go any further."

"But, Greg…" stammered Nick, eyes wide with fright as the EMTs loaded Greg onto the ambulance.

Greg's body was still, so still…not even shaking, just…still. Nick looked around wildly and saw Doc Robbins standing just inside the doorway. "Doc, what the hell happened?" shouted Nick, running over to him.

Doc Robbins sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Greg had a seizure of some sorts and stopped breathing," he said in an odd, detached voice. "I managed to get him breathing again with CPR, but he's comatose at the moment and probably will remain that was until he dies."

"But…but I got the antidote," protested Nick weakly, his head spinning.

Doc Robbins looked up, eyes suddenly clear. "Well then, what are you waiting for!" he exclaimed. "Give it to the paramedics so they can administer it to him."

Nick quickly grabbed the arm of one of the EMTs. "Uh…Greg…he was poisoned," said Nick, mind still reeling. "This is the antidote."

The paramedic nodded and took the antidote from him, yelling something to another paramedic. Nick wasn't listening anymore; he stared at Greg, at his paper white skin and delicate features. He had never realized before how fragile Greg was. "Oh, God," he whispered, almost sobbing.

He heard Grissom come up behind him, having jut arrived himself. He felt the older man grip his shoulder and call to the paramedics, "Look, I want Nick to go with him."

The EMT frowned deeply. "I'm sorry, sir, but his condition is very unstable. I don't know if—"

"It's not up for debate," interrupted Grissom from behind Nick, his blue eyes hard. "The victim is part of an active investigation. One of the CSIs has to be present to document everything."

"Very well," agreed the paramedic reluctantly, eyeing Nick warily. "But if he interferes with treatment, he will have to be removed."

Grissom nodded curtly and turned to Nick, eyes searching his. "Go with him, Nicky," he said quietly. "Make sure he's alright."

"Griss, look at him," said Nick weakly, eyes welling with tears. "He looks like he's already dead."

"Well, he's not," said Grissom briskly, fixing Nick with a steely gaze. His face softened and he said gently, "He needs you now more than he ever has before and you have to be there for him when he wakes up."

Nick just blinked at him, all the desperation and helplessness of the past week pouring out in a single moment. "What is he never wakes up?"

"He will," said Grissom firmly, no doubt in his voice.

Nodding slowly, Nick boarded the ambulance and sat down next to Greg, holding his hand as if he'd never let go.

Doc Robbins limped up to stand next to Grissom, both watching as the ambulance pulled out of the parking lot. "Will he be alright?" asked Al softly, more to himself than Grissom.

Grissom sighed heavily and looked at Al, wondering if he was talking about Greg or Nick. "He has to be," he whispered. "He has to be."

* * *

The incessant beeping was beginning to get to Nick. What was worse, every machine that Greg was hooked up to seemed to be beeping in different rhythms, and it was driving Nick up a wall. 

He looked at Greg and fought the urge to look away again. Greg's pale skin looked worse under the harsh fluorescent lights. His chest rose and fell slowly, far too slowly and shallowly to reassure Nick. And he looked so small. Covered in tubes that led to all the various machines, he looked almost child-like. Nick gripped his hand tighter and smoothed a lock of hair from his face, pausing to trace Greg's feature with a finger, trying to memorize every inch of him.

A knock sounded on the door and Grissom walked in. He handed Nick a cup of coffee. "How is he?" asked Grissom quietly.

Rubbing his eyes wearily, Nick sighed. "No change." He took the coffee from Grissom and sipped it gratefully. "Thanks."

They waited in comfortable silence for a few moments until Grissom said quietly, "It's weird seeing him like this. Greg, I mean."

Nick glanced up at him and smiled slightly. "I know what you mean. I'm so used to him bouncing off the walls that seeing him like this…"

He trailed off and Grissom nodded in agreement. He looked at Nick and wondered aloud. "I wonder what it's like…" before trailing off and blushing.

Nick looked at him and asked, "What?"

Grissom hid a grin and said slowly, "I was going to ask what it's like to live with him, but I realized I might not want to know the answer."

Laughing aloud, Nick rolled his eyes. "Greg can be as much of a pain in the ass at home as he is at work." His affectionate smiled turned to a more contemplative one. "But he's always conscious of me and what I need. He listens to his music on his headphones instead of the stereo, he always makes time for me no matter what's going on in his life, and he understands just snuggling at the end of a hard day."

"He's a good guy," said Grissom gently. "He always has been. And he makes you happy, I can tell."

Nick grinned slowly to himself. "Yeah, he does," he said, looking loving at Greg. "He really does." Looking up at Grissom, Nick smiled wryly and said, "I told him if he made it through this, we'd get married."

Grissom raised his eyebrows in surprise and grinned at Nick. "Wow, good for you," he said, still smiling. "I hope we're all invited."

Looking up at him with a sad look in his eyes, Nick wondered aloud, "Will he live to see our wedding day?"

"What do you think?" asked Grissom quietly. "What does your heart and your gut tell you? Mine tells me that you and Greg have many, many happy years ahead of you."

Nick smiled slowly, a glint of hope shining in his eyes. "I think I can see that," he said softly. "I really think I can."

"Then hold onto that," said Grissom firmly, squeezing Nick's shoulder. "Hold onto that with everything you have."

They remained like that in silence for a minute until the moment was broken by a nurse. "Oh, excuse me," she said, peering over her glasses at Grissom and Nick. "Hospital visiting hours are over. You're going to have to leave."

Nick opened his mouth to protest but Grissom cut him off smoothly. "Ma'am, I'm Gil Grissom. I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

The nurse blinked owlishly at him. "That's nice, Mr. Grissom, but rules are rules. You'll have to leave."

Once again, Nick started to protest, and once again, Grissom cut him off, this time with a fiercely whispered, "I'll take care of it."

He walked over to the nurse, taking her arm and steering her out of the room. "Ma'am, this is part of a homicide investigation. I'm going to need to speak to the doctor in charge of Mr. Sanders' case…"

The door shut behind them and Nick turned back to Greg, blinking tiredly. He smiled wanly at the younger man, taking his hand again. "Hey, Greg, it's me," he whispered gently, stroking Greg's cheek with his thumb. "I hope you can hear me…listen, you need to get better, alright? You need to get better and wake up soon cuz we're going to get married, remember? You and me in Massachusetts or something…together, forever."

He sighed and squeezed Greg's hand. "I wish I could crawl into bed with you right now and just hold you til I fall asleep. But I can't because of all these tubes." He fell silent and stared at Greg as if willing him to open his eyes, those dark chocolate eyes and just look at him, one more time.

"I should have been there," he said suddenly. "I should have been there with you when you stopped breathing, when you almost died. Maybe if I had been there, you wouldn't be like this." He paused before whispering brokenly, "Maybe I would've been able to tell you I love you one last time."

Tears overflowed from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto their intertwined hands as he sobbed quietly. After a few minutes, he stopped, taking a ragged breath and wiping his eyes half-heartedly. He looked down at Greg again and whispered, "Sleep well, sweetheart. But wake up soon. Please. For me."

Then he fell asleep as well, still holding Greg's hand tightly in his own.

* * *

_Greg felt trapped in a world of white light. He couldn't see anything but white light, surrounding him, filling him. He tried to speak, but no words came out._

_The white was soothing, gentle. It had taken away his pain, pain that had been so intense, he thought he was dying. He wondered vaguely if he was dead, and if this was Heaven. If it was, he decided, it wasn't so bad, simply suspended in white space._

_He heard muffled voices echoing as if they came from far away, but nothing distinctive, the volume going in and out like a bad radio station. He tuned them out, simply letting the light fill him completely. _

_Then he heard crying, soft sobs that broke his heart and somehow, somehow seemed so familiar to him, as if he knew the person crying. An abstract thought floated into his head—a name, Nick._

_Suddenly, he was alert, heart pounding. Nicky. Nicky was crying. He tried desperately to call out to him, to tell him to stop crying, but he couldn't. He struggled against the light, trying desperately to somehow break out of the white to where Nick was, to hold him, to soothe him._

_He cried out silently as the pain came back and engulfed him, changing his world of white to a raging red inferno. He tried weakly once more to cry out to Nick, and then the pain overwhelmed him and everything faded to black._

* * *

Grissom strode down the hallway of the hospital toward Greg's room, muttering sullenly to himself about the stupid nurse. He paused at the door to Greg's room and looked in. Nick was asleep, clutching Greg's hand. 

Hiding a sad smile, Grissom stepped away from the door. Nick and Greg were so perfect together…it still surprised him that no one had figured it out sooner.

He started pacing in front of Greg's room, waiting for the doctor to show up. He had to know what Greg's chances were. He had to know if he would survive, because Grissom didn't think Nick would make it if Greg didn't.

The doctor walked up briskly to Grissom, offering him his hand. "Mr. Grissom, I'm Doctor Skura, the primary doctor on Greg's case. I heard you wanted to see me?"

Grissom shook his hand. "Yes, thanks for coming to see me. I wanted to know about Greg's condition."

Nodding once, the doctor pulled out Greg's chart. "When he was admitted yesterday, Mr. Sanders was suffering from the beginning stages of atrophy in his extremities, as well as complications from a weakened immune system and partially collapsed lung. His collapsed lung and weakened immune system stopped his heart when coupled with the grand mal seizure he had at the morgue, but was started with CPR from both the coroner and paramedics. The CPR caused slight fractures to his sternum and ribs, but those should heal on their own."

He paused before adding in more subdues tones, "When he was…well, dead for those few minutes, it caused a lack of oxygen flow to his brain. Brain damage, if any, won't be apparent until he wakes up…if he wakes up."

Sighing heavily, Grissom turned back to the window, watching Nick and Greg sleep. "What'll happen to him?" he asked aloud.

"Mr. Grissom…there's no way to tell," said the doctor gently. "He could linger in the coma for years. He could die peacefully in his sleep tonight. He could up with the mental capacity of a five-year-old."

"Is it…is it at all possible that he could wake up and be fine?" asked Grissom hesitantly, not allowing himself to hope.

Dr. Skura paused before sighing deeply. "There is a glimmer of a possibility, the slightest chance. At this point…" He trailed off and sighed again. "At this point, he's pretty much living on a prayer."

Grissom nodded slowly, a glint in his normally stoic blue eyes. "If there's any hope, then that's all we need. Greg will make it."

"Mr. Grissom, you're a scientist!" protested the doctor, a frown furrowing his brow. "You of all people know you have to be reasonable."

Grissom just raised an eyebrow. "'Le Coeur a ses raisons que raison ne connais pas,'" he quoted. "'The heart has its reason whereof reason knows nothing.' Pascal—French Philosopher." He paused before saying quietly, "The greatest variable every scientist has to remember is the human heart."

The doctor bowed his head in acceptance and asked quietly, "Do you want me to tell your CSI in there the news?"

Looking at Nick, Grissom shook his head. "No, let me tell him. It's my responsibility to him."

Dr. Skura nodded once before turning to leave. He paused. "Mr. Grissom…I hope Greg does get better. For your sake."

Grissom nodded once and the doctor left. He turned back to watch Nick and Greg. His heart ached for Nick. He couldn't imagine Nicky sitting next to a comatose Greg for the rest of his years. He also couldn't imagine Greg waking up and not being the smart, sarcastic man that everyone had grown to love. Above all, he wouldn't allow himself to imagine attending the funeral of the youngest member of his team. That was one option he refused to consider.

No, Greg had to get better. It was the only feasible option. And looking in at Nick and Greg, he could almost believe that it would happen, because a love that strong could conquer anything.


	11. Day 8 through Day 12

_**A/N:** So...I finally got this chapter up. Fantanstic. It's a long one, sorry. Just one more after this. Usual disclaimer applies. Please read and review! Thanks._

Chapter Ten

"_Take my hand  
We'll make it I swear  
Oh-oh, livin' on a prayer"_

Nick awoke with a start and rubbed his eyes wearily. It had been his fourth night in row in Greg's hospital room, and it was beginning to get to him. Grissom had given him a leave of absence until Greg woke up. Neither Nick nor Grissom had mentioned that it may turn into an indefinite leave if Greg lingered in his coma. Nick didn't even want to think about that, but doubts closed in with every hour that passed.

Luckily for him, none of the hospital staff now protested his seemingly perpetual presence. And the staff was friendly enough, chatting with him as they took Greg off to his daily MRI. Nick in turn was cordial to them, even when they interrupted his watching of the brain wave monitor. He watched it religiously, looking for one spike, just one, that indicated that Greg knew what was going on around him. Thus far, no indication had been given, but Nick didn't give up hope. Nick couldn't give up hope.

A nurse bustled in and Nick pasted a smile on his face. "Good morning, ma'am," he said cheerfully, trying not to sound as strained or tired as he actually felt.

"Good morning, Mr. Stokes," she said happily back to him. She smiled at Greg. "And good morning to you, Mr. Sanders. Are you going to wake up today?" She waited patiently, almost as if she expected him to answer. She sighed when he didn't. "Ah well, maybe tomorrow."

Nick stood up, hands in pockets, as he watched the nurse fuss with Greg. "Um, ma'am, if you don't mind me saying so, you seem awfully optimistic that Greg'll wake up, even when all the other doctors aren't."

The nurse smoothed one of Greg's blankets, suddenly serious. Her eyes had a soft, faraway look as she said slowly, "My son was in a car accident ten years ago. He's been in a coma even since." She paused, fluffing Greg's pillow. When she spoke again, her voice was full of a weary hope that had been tried by every force of nature and still managed to hold on. "So I have to believe that he's going to get better, just like I have to believe your Greg's going to get better."

Reaching across to her, Nick took her hand and squeezed it. "I hope you son gets better too, ma'am. Just like I hope Greg gets better."

"He will," said the nurse gently, patting his arm. "He will."

Suddenly, the brain wave monitor gave off a series of high-pitched beeps. The nurse ran over to it, calling over her shoulder, "Call for Dr. Skura!"

"Why, what's wrong?" asked Nick, panicking.

The nurse turned back to him, eyes shining. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. It's great. He's entered the R.E.M. stage of sleep. He's waking up."

* * *

Greg's hospital room was suddenly awash in a flood of activity as everyone prepared for Greg to awaken. Nurses bustled in and out, unhooking him from machines and taking various measurements, leaving Nick alone as they worked around him. Nick felt lost, like a lifeboat bobbing aimlessly in the sea of commotion around him. He wanted to do something, anything instead of just sitting there, but he was afraid he'd ruin something and Greg would go back into the coma. 

So he sat back and held Greg's hand tighter than he ever had before, intently watching Greg's face, hoping and praying that those beautiful chocolate eyes would open soon.

Dr. Skura strolled in. "Good morning, Mr. Stokes," he said calmly, shaking Nick's hand. "I hear that Mr. Sanders has decided it's time to rejoin the living.

"Yeah," said Nick, grinning widely. "Yeah, he has. Is he going to wake up soon?"

The doctor checked on Greg and conferred with a nurse. "Yes, he should wake up within the hour, I'd think. It's really up to him now." Dr. Skura paused and gave Nick a long look. "Mr. Stokes, we need to talk."

Nick's smile faltered and he looked at Dr. Skura anxiously. "Why, what is it? What's wrong?"

Sighing heavily, Dr. Skura said gently, "I believe you and Mr. Grissom have already had this discussion, but it's time that you and I discussed Mr. Sanders' potential condition. As you know, his _substantia nigra_ was severely depleted by the poison. It should be rebuilt in time, but brain damage extending from that and his lack of oxygen when his heart stopped is possible if not probable."

"So…what are you trying to say?" asked Nick, brow creased and eyes dark. "That Greg's going to be retarded for the rest of his life?"

"I'm saying you have to be realistic," said Dr. Skura sharply. "Greg could wake up and not know who you are, where he is, or even with the mental capacity to vocalize his feelings."

Nick's shoulders were tense as he replied shortly, "Look, I don't care. I love Greg, and that will not stop, no matter what."

"So you're prepared to give up your life to care for a five-year-old child in a thirty-one-year-old's body?" asked the doctor dryly.

"If that's what it takes," said Nick quietly.

The doctor nodded slowly. "Then you have more courage than a lot of people, Mr. Stokes."

Nick looked up sharply. "Courage has nothing to do with it," he said harshly. "Courage was Greg having to go through this and him never once complaining. Courage was Marty Resner dying for someone he had never met before. That was courage." Nick looked down at Greg and shook his head. "No, this has nothing to do with courage. I have to do this. I have a responsibility to Greg, to Marty, because they were courageous for me. Besides," added Nick, brushing Greg's cheek with his hand, "I love Greg, and I know that somewhere inside him, no matter how far he's regressed, he loves me too." He paused, mustering all the courage he could, and said, "Greg will be fine. He's a fighter, and he's going to get through this. We're going to get through this, together."

For once, the doctor didn't even try to deter him, instead looking at Greg. Suddenly, he sat up straight and leaned over Greg. "Mr. Sanders! I'm Dr. Skura. How are you feeling?"

Nick looked down at Greg, eyes drinking in the sight of him with his eyes finally open. Greg blinked once, slowly, before yawning. "Tired," he murmured in a voice scratchy from disuse, blinking against the bright light.

The doctor motioned to the nurse to dim the lights. "Mr. Sanders, I'm going to ask you a few simple questions, and I want you to answer them honestly, ok?"

Greg's eyes looked over at Nick, and Nick swore he could see a flicker or recognition before Greg looked back at Dr. Skura. "Ok."

"Mr. Sanders, do you know who the man sitting next to you is?"

Once again, Greg's eyes flickered over to Nick. "Of course. That's Nick Stokes. He and I work together."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Nick's breath caught in his throat as the doctor asked patiently, "Mr. Sanders, what year is it?"

"That's easy, said Greg, yawning. "It's 2001."

Nick froze, sharing a worried look with the doctor. His heart seemed to stop. Had Greg forgotten everything that had happened between them? Suddenly, Greg's face broke into a weary grin, and he said cheekily, "Just kidding. It's 2006."

Nick almost cried in relief, but settled for reaching down and hugging Greg fiercely. "You're back, you're really back, poor sense of humor and all."

Greg held him tightly as if he'd never let go, burying his face in Nick's shoulder. "I really am back," he whispered, leaning back and kissing Nick gently on the lips. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," said Nick gently, stroking Greg's cheek with his thumb, tears of happiness dripping down his face. "I love you."

The doctor cleared his throat and said quietly, "I'm going to leave you two alone for a bit while I go check on some other patients." He got up from the edge of Greg's bed and squeezed Nick's shoulder once before leaving, taking the nurse with him.

Nick found himself just staring into Greg's eyes, so amazed that they were finally open, that Greg was really ok. He started to cry harder, finally able to release all the anxiety and fear that had haunted him the past few days. "Hey, it's ok," said Greg concernedly, reaching up to wipe Nick's tears. "I'm here, and it's ok now."

"I thought…I thought I had lost you forever," sobbed Nick, "and all I could think about was how I'd never get to hold you again and never get to tell you I loved you again."

"And never get to screw me through the mattress again?" joked Greg lightly. His expression softened and he pulled Nick down beside him on the bed. "Shh, baby, don't cry. None of that matters now." He kissed Nick's forehead and murmured soothingly, "It's ok now, Nicky. It's ok."

Nick calmed down under Greg's gentle ministrations but made no move to separate himself from Greg. He finally wiped his eyes and sat up, glaring down at Greg. "Don't ever scare me like that again, ok?" He softened and whispered, "I don't know what I'd do without you, Greg. I really don't."

"I don't know what I'd do without you, either," said Greg quietly, his dark eyes reflective. They brightened as he teased, "Maybe I'd move back to California, get married, have some kids—"

"Hey!" said Nick, mock-hurt as he punched Greg in the arm. "I'm trying to have a serious moment here and you're ruining it."

"We don't need to be serious," said Greg, rolling his eyes. He paused and added softly, "We have all our lives to be serious, and we've said all the serious things we need to say."

Nodding slowly, Nick took Greg's hand and wove their fingers together firmly. "Alright, Mr. Funnyman, if you don't want to be so serious, what do you propose we do?"

Greg's eyes twinkled. "Let's call Grissom," he said, smirking evilly at Nick. "I think it's time he got a call from a comatose man." He picked up the phone and started dialing. Suddenly, he paused. "You didn't call Grissom to tell him I was waking up, did you?"

Nick shook his head. "No, I was so caught up in the fact that you were waking up that I completely forgot to." He grinned at Greg. "You, Greg Sanders, are the epitome of evil." Pausing and shaking his head again, he said, "Just remember, he's not as young as he used to be."

Greg stuck his tongue out at Nick and finished dialing, hitting the speakerphone button when he was done. Judy's chipper voice said cheerfully, "Las Vegas Crime Lab."

Nick took over before Greg could say anything. "Hey Judy, it's Nick. Can I talk to Grissom, please?"

"Sure, Mr. Stokes, I'll put you right through," said Judy. Greg stuck his tongue out at Nick again and mockingly mouthed, "_Hey Judy, it's Nick. Can I talk to Grissom, please?"_ Nick smacked him on the arm.

Grissom's voice crackled over the line. "Hey, Nicky, can you make this quick? I'm late for a meeting with Ecklie and the Sheriff."

"Sure, Griss, this won't take long," said Nick, sharing a grin with Greg. "There's just someone here who wants to talk to you."

Nick looked over at Greg, who was struggling to keep a straight face. "Hey Grissom," said Greg casually, his face turning red from the strain of not laughing.

"Hey Greg, what—" started Grissom, before he stopped, fully realizing who he was talking to. "Oh my God, Greg! You're awake! Are you…are you ok? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Greg, grinning. "Or, well, I think I'm fine. The doctors need to run some tests to make sure, but I'm ok."

Suddenly, Nick and Greg could hear Catherine in the background. "Hey, Griss, who's on the phone?"

"It's Greg!" said Grissom excitedly to Catherine before saying, "I'm going to put you on speakerphone, ok? So everyone can say hi to Greg."

And everyone did say hi to Greg: Warrick, Sara, Catherine, Archie, Bobby, Jacqui, even Hodges. Warrick went so far as to call Doc Robbins on his cell phone and hold the phone up to the speaker so Doc and David could hear Greg.

Nick listened to the whole exchange with a huge grin on his face until he noticed Greg's eyelids start to droop. "Alright, everyone, that's enough for now," said Nick loudly over the din of everyone speaking. "Greg's falling asleep over here and he's still not one hundred percent yet."

Greg didn't even protest as he said good-bye with a giant yawn. Nick hung up the phone and turned to Greg. "Time for you to go to bed," he said briskly, standing up and smoothing the covers. He paused and looked Greg in the eye. "Just wake up in a timely fashion this time, alright?"

Nodding and grinning widely, Greg pulled Nick to him and kissed him gently on the lips. "Good-night," he whispered.

"Greg, it's eight o'clock in the morning," said Nick patiently.

"Doesn't matter," yawned Greg, closing his eyes and leaning against his pillow. "I'm going to bed and that automatically qualifies it as night." He paused before saying gently, "I love you."

Nick grinned, still amazed to be able to hear those words from Greg again. "I love you, too," he said, kissing Greg on the forehead. "Now go to sleep."

Greg rolled his eyes but nodded obediently, closing his eyes and drifting off. Nick settled back into his chair, crossing his arms with a smile on his face. This time, the wait would be bearable, knowing Greg was going to wake up.

* * *

Later on that day, Dr. Skura came into Greg's room to discuss Greg's test results. "Mr. Sanders," he said cheerfully, extending his hand to Greg. 

"Dr. Skura," said Nick, nodding cordially from his perch on Greg's bed.

Greg shook Dr. Skura's hand heartily. "Dr. Skura," he said, smiling. "I believe I have you to thank for getting me out of my coma."

"On the contrary, Mr. Sanders, you came out of it all on your own." The doctor paused before turning serious. "Either way, it's time we had a discussion about your future."

Nick took Greg's hand and squeezed it gently. Meeting Nick's eyes, Greg smiled slightly before turning to the doctor and nodding. "Ok. We're ready."

The doctor nodded as well. "Alright. Mr. Sanders, the good news is that 60 percent of your _substantia nigra_ has rebuilt itself, an extraordinary number considering the circumstances. Also, there seems to be no indication of any other brain damage." He paused tactfully before continuing. "The bad news is that the 60 percent of your _substantia nigra_ that has rebuilt itself is probably the only part that will rebuild itself. The rest has been too severely destroyed. Now, you can still fully function on 60 percent, but as you get older, you will be about 100 percent more susceptible to Parkinson's. Luckily, the signs will be much more obvious and you'll be able to get treatment much sooner." The doctor gathered up his notes and looked gravely at Greg. "All in all, I'd estimate that this entire experience took ten to twenty years off your life."

"But I'm here now," said Greg firmly, weaving his fingers with Nick's. "I'm here now, and that's all that matters."

Dr. Skura inclined his head and stood. "Alright. Mr. Sanders, you'll be able to go home in about two days and you'll need to come in about once every six months for a check-up."

Nick nodded and stood as well, shaking the doctor's hand. "Thank you for everything, doctor."

"You're very welcome," said Dr. Skura warmly before leaving.

Nick turned back to Greg. "Ok, Greggo, I have something I want to ask you."

Yawning and leaning back against his pillow, Greg shrugged in assent. "Sure, go ahead," he said. "I'm game for anything."

Clearing his throat, Nick said quietly, "I know you and I already discussed this, but I thought it was time I actually asked you."

Greg frowned, confused. "Nick, what—" he started, then broke off as Nick pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and kneeled down on the floor.

"Greg Sanders, will you marry me?" asked Nick softly, opening the box and holding it up.

For probably the first time in his life, Greg was completely speechless. He gaped at Nick and at the platinum band nestled in black velvet. When he regained the use of his voice, he whispered, "Of course I will."

He took the ring from Nick and held it up to the light, watching the light reflect off the bright platinum. He looked back at Nick. "When did you get this?"

Nick took the ring from his and slid it on Greg's finger. "I had Catherine pick it up while I was here, waiting for you to wake up." He touched it gently, then asked, "Did you read what's on it?"

Frowning, Greg held it up to the light again. What he had first taken for a smooth band actually had words inscribed on it. There for all the world to see were the simple words, "I love you."

He smiled at Nick and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Thank you," he said quietly, stroking Nick's cheek gently. "Thank you."

Nick smiled as well as he reached back into his pocket and pulled out a second ring, which he slid on his own finger. He looked at it reflectively. "There's only one thing I've gotta do before we get married."

Greg raised one eyebrow at him. "What's that?"

Grimacing, Nick said dryly, "I've gotta tell my parents."

Taking Nick's hand and squeezing it gently, Greg said reassuringly, "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, together."

Nick nodded slowly. He looked at Greg and asked, "Did you read what it says on the inside of the ring?"

Greg shook his hand and pulled it off his finger, holding it back up to the light. After he read the words, he started to cry softly and reached towards Nick, holding him tightly. Inscribed inside was the single word, "Forever."

* * *

_**A/N:**_ _Yay! Greg's alright! The next chapter (the last one) will feature (what else) their wedding. So...I can't wait._


	12. The Rest of Their Lives

_**A/N:** So...last chapter. I know, I know, it's sad. But hopefully this chapter will cheer you up. Anyway, the song used is "Come What May" from _Moulin Rouge_, the vows are from my church's book-thingy, and the verse from Corinthians is curtesy of my mom's ancient Revised Standard Version Bible. Oh, Nick's father's and mother's names are taken from the official CBS website (woo) and Nick's middle name is...made-up. I coud find no mention of aforementioned middle name anywhere. If someone knows what is actually is, let me know, ok? In any case, usual disclaimer applies. Now, for the last time, read on._

Epilogue

"_Oh, we're halfway there  
Oh-oh, livin' on a prayer  
Take my hand  
We'll make it I swear  
Oh-oh, livin' on a prayer"_

Two weeks after Greg got home from the hospital, Nick sat on his couch, staring at the phone and trying his best to delay calling his parents. He had woken up early so he call them before work, but he desperately did not want to. Instead, he sat, having a staring contest with the telephone.

Greg stumbled out of their bedroom, rubbing his eyes blearily. "Hey," he yawned, squinting at Nick as he shuffled into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. "Did you call your parents yet?"

Nick gave him a look. "I'm trying," he grumbled, turning away. "And when did they become my 'folks'?"

"I don't speak coherently without coffee, and you know it," snapped Greg, taking a sip. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry, I know this is hard for you. I'm just tired."

Looking at him concernedly, Nick asked gently, "Are you sure you want to go to work tonight? Grissom'll be more than happy to give you another night off."

Greg glared at him. "I've been off the past two weeks. I'm so bored I tired to take up knitting. I am not taking tonight off."

Nick shrugged. "Your funeral."

Crossing down to sit on the couch, Greg raised one eyebrow and said calmly, "It'll be yours if you don't call your parents."

Groaning aloud, Nick rubbed his eyes and said desperately, "Do I really have to tell them? I mean, it's not like it does anyone any good."

Greg picked up the phone and handed it him, looking at him impatiently. "Call them," he commanded simply.

Still groaning, Nick dialed the number and held his breath, praying fervently that they weren't home. After two rings, his father picked up. "This is the Stokes residence, Judge Stokes speaking."

Nick forced a smile onto his face. "Hey, Cisco, it's me."

"Pancho!" exclaimed Roger, favoring his son with the special nickname he had for him. "How're things up in Sin City?"

"Um, they're fine," said Nick, his eyes pleading with Greg to put him out of his misery. "Look, can I talk to Mom?"

Roger sounded surprised as he answered, "Sure, Pancho, I'll get her." There was a muffled sound as he covered the phone and yelled, "Jillian! Nick's on the phone." He told Nick, "She's coming. Just give her a minute; she's gonna get the upstairs extension."

Jill Stokes came on the phone then. "Hey, Nick, what do you need, sweetie?"

"Hey Mom. Um, is Dad still on the phone?" asked Nick, rubbing his forehead.

There was a pause and Jill said slowly, "No, he's off the phone. Nick, honey, what is it? You're scaring me."

Nick sighed heavily. "Mom, I have something I need to tell you." He took a deep breath…and chickened out. "I'm getting married."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" exclaimed Jill. "Your father will be so excited!" She covered the phone and yelled, "Roger! Nick's getting married!"

"No, Mom, don't—" started Nick, but it was too late.

Nick's father came on the telephone. "Pancho! You're getting married? Why didn't you tell me? Who's the lucky girl?"

Feeling his heart drop, Nick groaned aloud and said angrily, "Hold on a second, will you? Give me a chance to explain the situation."

There was an awkward pause until Jill said stiffly, "Well, at least tell us who she is, will you?"

"Did you knock her up?" demanded Roger accusingly.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Nick almost started laughing. The picture of Greg pregnant was quite comical. "No one's pregnant, alright? Just let me explain."

He paused as he racked his brain for a way to explain it. He finally decided to subtlely hint at the truth. "The reason why I didn't tell you is because we wanted to keep it quiet. Dating a coworker isn't exactly smiled upon."

"Oh, so she's a coworker?" interjected Jill. "Is it that nice Sara girl I met last time? I liked her."

"No, Mom, it's not Sara," sighed Nick. He decided on a different tactic. "Do you remember meeting Greg?"

Jill thought for a moment. "Oh, yes, wasn't he that nice boy with the spiky hair?"

Nick smiled in remembrance of Greg's crazy hair. "Yes, Mom, that was him."

"Well, what the hell does he have to do with any of this?" asked Roger impatiently.

Sighing heavily, Nick said softly, "Because he's the one I'm marrying."

There was a long pause before Jill started giggling nervously. "Oh, you're so funny, Nicky. Don't you think he's funny, Roger?"

Nick sighed again. "I'm serious, Mom. Greg and I have been dating for quite some time now and we've decided to get married."

"No," said Jill faintly. "No, no, no, no, no. This is not happening. This is NOT HAPPENING!"

"Mom—" started Nick, but his father cut him off.

"That's enough, Nicholas," he said stiffly. "You've made your choices and God will punish you for that. But you will not drag this family down with you." He paused before saying resolutely, "Do not contact us again until you get this fool notion out of your head."

Nick stared at the phone in shock, oblivious to the dial tone that sounded. Greg took the phone out of his hand and hung iut up. "Nicky?" he asked worriedly. "Nick, what happened?"

Shaking his head disbelievingly, Nick muttered, "They disowned me." He turned his face to Greg, tears coursing down his cheeks. "My family. I have no family."

"Oh, baby," murmured Greg, gathering Nick in his arms. "Sweetheart, I'm your family now. We're a family, together."

Nick just shook his head again. "It's not the same," he sobbed quietly, not meeting Greg's eyes. "It's not the same."

Greg closed his eyes and swallowed hard, pressing his cheek against Nick's. "It'll all be ok," he murmured fiercely, eyes burning. "I will make it ok."

* * *

That weekend, Greg took Saturday and Sunday off, leaving without telling Nick where he was going. He hopped the first plane to Dallas, not even pausing to consider the ramifications of what he was about to do. This was far too important for him to second guess himself.

Greg took a taxi from the airport to the Stokes house, ignoring the impossibly huge fee. Stepping out of the cab, he gaped at the huge house. He knew Nick had a lot of siblings, but still. This was impressive.

Pausing to gather his resolve, Greg went to the front door and rang the bell. A few moments later, a small woman Greg recognized as Nick's mother opened the door. She looked vaguely at him. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm hoping you can," said Greg earnestly. "I'm Greg Sanders."

Jillian Stokes' eyes flickered as she glanced at him. "I suppose you had better come in," she remarked. "Roger's not home at the moment."

Greg followed her into the immaculate kitchen where he stood uncomfortably, hands in his pockets as she poured herself a cup of tea. Jill glanced up at him and smiled wryly. "You can have a seat," she said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Though Greg sat down, he did not relax. "Ma'am—" he started, but she cut him off.

"Please, Greg, call me Jill," she said, sitting across from him and handing him a teacup. She smiled shyly at him. "Especially since we're going to be family."

Greg blinked at her in confusion. "I thought…" He trailed off, unsure how to finish his thought.

Jill looked down into her mug of tea. "My husband," she said slowly, "is having a very hard time with this. And I don't blame him. It's difficult reconciling the image of your football-playing, frat-boy, police officer son with that of a gay man. I, however, had some previous indication that Nick was…well, gay." She paused and smiled sardonically. "Mother's intuition, you know?"

"So you're not angry with him?" asked Greg tentatively.

Shaking her head, Jill mused aloud, "How could I be angry with my son for being what he is?"

Greg nodded slowly. "I just wish your husband felt the same way." He paused. "Nick's really upset about all of this."

"I assumed he must be, if you came down here behind his back," she said gently. "As upset as he may be, Nick's also far too stubborn to try and make amends on his own."

Smiling slightly, Greg asked quietly, "Do you think I'll be able to change his mind? Your husband's, I mean?"

Jill shrugged. "He's judge and jury with this one, so you're going to have to make a pretty convincing case." She paused and shrugged again. "All I can say is, good luck."

Suddenly, the front door slammed. "Jillian, I'm home!" called Roger Stokes.

Greg turned back to Jill and gulp. "Thanks," he whispered. "I think I'm gonna need it."

Roger walked into the kitchen. "Jill—" he started before stopping when he saw Greg. "Mr. Sanders," he said coldly.

"Judge Stokes," said Greg cordially, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. "It's good to see you again."

Looking at Greg as if he was something foul he has stepped in, Roger said calmly, "I only wish the feeling was mutual."

Greg looked as if he had been slapped, and even Jill scowled at Roger. Swallowing hard, Greg said slowly, voice shaking, "Look, Your Honor, I don't want to cause trouble. I'm worried about Nick." Some hidden sympathy in Roger must've surfaced because he let Greg talk. Greg continued, "I know you may not approve of us, but I love your son, and we're getting married, no matter what you think."

Roger said icily, "Good for you. I don't really give a damn. As far as I'm concerned, there is no queer in my family. Nick could rot in hell for all I care, and he will."

Greg stood angrily, eyes flashing. "This is your son, Mr. Stokes," he said furiously. "Your son. Regardless of how you feel about us, he is still your son, and you are supposed to love him no matter what."

"Oh, you're a fine one to lecture me on love," snapped Roger scathingly. "You're in love with a man."

Now Greg was really livid. "At least I love him unconditionally. As least I will never judge him on something so stupid." He pulled an envelope from his pocket and slammed it down on the table. "Here. Two tickets to Canada, where we're getting married." Pausing, he added quietly. "You don't have to agree with him. Just be there for him."

He turned to Jill. "Mrs. Stokes, it was very nice to see you again. Mr. Stokes…" He trailed off. "Your son still loves you in spite of everything, and I only hope that somewhere inside you, you still love him as well." Nodding once to Jill, he added, "I'll let myself out."

And he did, shutting the door behind him. Only then did he allow himself to cry, full sobs that shook his body. His heart ached for Nick. If only Nick's parent's had been like Greg's, happy and supportive of their son. Greg shook his head and wiped his eyes. He only prayed that he had helped and not made matters worse.

* * *

Wedding arrangements had all been made. The ceremony would be held at Papa Olaf's cabin in northern Newfoundland. The ceremony itself would be a simple affair. Though Papa Olaf had been pushing for traditional Norwegian vows, the vows would be in English (much to Nick's relief). Papa Olaf would be giving Greg away since his parents couldn't make the ceremony, and Grissom would be giving Nick away.

As the big day approached, both Nick and Greg got increasingly more nervous. Greg would call Papa Olaf and have conversations with him for hours in rapid Norwegian. Nick obsessively called everyone at odd hours to make sure they had their tickets, dresses, suits, etc.

It got to the point where Brass threatened to haul them both in for obstruction of justice. By that time, however, it was close enough to the wedding where Nick and Greg were too busy packing to concern themselves with bothering everyone else.

Finally, everyone headed to the airport. It only took forever to get through security, and by the time they landed in St. John's and drove all the way out to Papa Olaf's cabin, it was almost midnight.

Nick and Greg stumbled into their room in Papa Olaf's cabin. Greg groaned aloud and sank onto the mattress. "I know the time difference isn't that much, and I've made this trek a million times, but the jet lag still gets to me." He looked up at Nick and pulled him down next to him. "How're you feeling?"

"Uhh," groaned Nick, burying his head in Greg's shoulder. "I feel like death."

Greg grinned and kissed the top of Nick's head. "You'll feel better in the morning, after we get some sleep." He stood slowly. "I should go make sure everyone's settled in."

Nick pulled him back down. "They're fine. Just lie here with me." He looked at him with puppy-dog eyes. "Please."

"Fine," relented Greg, lying down on the bed. He settled on to the bed, arranging the pillow into a more comfortable position before snuggling against Nick.

Nick wrapped an arm around him and stared up at the ceiling, sighing. "I wish my parents were going to be here," he remarked regretfully.

"They could still come," said Greg optimistically, closing his eyes and yawning. "There's still time."

Shooting Greg a dubious glance, Nick asked dryly, "Yeah, but how are they going to know where we're getting married at? I didn't tell them."

Greg turned red. "Er…about that. Ah, I may have accidentally told them where we getting married at."

Nick stared at him incredulously. "How the hell do you accidentally tell my parents something like that?"

Wincing, Greg said quickly, "Look, don't be mad at, but remember that weekend when I was out of town?"

"You didn't," said Nick threateningly.

Greg ducked his head. "I did. I went to see your parents. I thought maybe if I could explain it to them, then—"

"Then what, Greg?" exploded Nick. "Then they'd welcome me back into their family with open arms? Fat chance of that happening!"

Frowning, Greg said defensively, "Hey, your mom was pretty much up for that." He softened. 'She doesn't hate you, Nick. She told me…" He trailed off and grinned. "She told me that we were family now. She accepts us, she accepts you for who you are."

Nick's eyes filled with tears and he reached out and squeezed Greg's hand. "What about my dad?"

Greg's smile faltered. "Your dad? He was a harder sell. But I gave him my best argument and left them two plane tickets, so who knows."

Pulling Greg to him, Nick kissed Greg gently. "Thank you," he whispered. "Even if it accomplished nothing, thank you for trying."

Shrugging, clearly embarrassed, Greg said off-handedly, "Hey, I'm gonna be your husband, right? That's what husbands do."

Nick kissed him again before settling back onto his pillow. "My husband," he mused aloud, closing his eyes and yawning. "I think I like that."

"Good," muttered Greg, already half-asleep, "'cause you're gonna be stuck with it for the rest of our lives."

Nick grinned and kissed Greg once more. "That's the only way I'd want it to be."

* * *

Nick sat in the little room off of the city hall's main chamber, nervously fiddling with his tie, his cuffs and pretty much everything else. He glanced at the clock and gulped. Five minutes.

A soft knock sounded on the adjoining door and Nick started. "Who is it?" he called.

"It's Greg."

Sighing, Nick rolled his eyes and said, "We're not supposed to see each other on the wedding day before the wedding, remember?"

Greg replied cheekily, "As far as I know, that only applies to the groom seeing the bride. Now I don't know about you, but I ain't a bride."

Nick grinned and opened the door. Greg smiled at him nervously before crossing to a chair and sitting down, leg jiggling rapidly. "Nicky, baby, are you sure you want to do this? I mean, we don't have to if you don't want to. It's not as if there's tax benefits or something. And it's not even recognized back home, so—"

Nick cut him off. "Greg, you're rambling."

Blushing, Greg looked down and muttered, "Sorry." He looked back up at Nick. "I'm just nervous, you know? I keep thinking…" He trailed off.

Kneeling down next to him, Nick asked concernedly, "Keep thinking what?"

Greg couldn't meet his eyes as he said quietly, "I keep thinking that you're going to leave me at the altar or something."

Nick took Greg's hand and squeezed it gently. "Hey," he said, looking Greg in the eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, alright? I'm not leaving you anywhere. You've got me forever."

"Promise?" asked Greg in a small, childish voice.

"Promise."

Greg grinned. "Good," he said, leaning forward and kissing Nick on the lips. "Good."

They had just kissed again when Catherine opened the door. "Hey, lovebirds, we're ready now."

Nick and Greg shared a look and then both stood. "Are you ready?" asked Nick.

Raising one eyebrow, Greg countered, "Are you?"

Smiling slightly, Nick said quietly, "I've never been more ready for anything in my life."

"Then let's go."

Nick and Greg walked hand in hand to the back of the Justice of the Peace's office and waited for a moment before walking into the room together, stopping in front of the desk. Greg turned to Nick and smiled shyly, taking both his hands.

The justice beamed as both of them and began, reading aloud from a small, black book in a thin, creaky voice. "Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of the government of Canada to join together these men in civil matrimony." He paused, then added, "Who gives Gregory Hojem Sanders to be married?"

Papa Olaf stepped forward, followed closely by Catherine, Sara and Doc Robbins. The four of them looked at each other and said in unison, "We do."

Grinning and blushing, Greg smiled his gratitude and ducked his head.

The justice smiled as well before asking, "Who gives Nicholas Michael Stokes to be married?"

Just as Grissom stepped forward to answer, a voice called from the back of them room, "We do!"

Nick gaped as his mother and father walked slowly into the room. When he finally regained his voice, Nick croaked, "Cisco…you're here."

Roger smiled warmly at his son before reaching out and wrapping him in a hug. "Pancho, I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

He looked over at Greg and held out his hand. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for making me realize that I was wrong." He shook Greg's hand heartily. "Take care of my boy."

Greg looked at him seriously. "I will," he promised. "I will."

Judge Stokes looked back at the justice and blushed slightly. "Right. Sorry. You can begin again."

The justice merely raised one eyebrow and looked back at his book. "If anyone has a valid why these two should not be married, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

Greg looked over at Judges Stokes and bit his lip, praying to any and every god that he not say anything. Roger bowed his head and held his tongue.

Nick let out a breath he didn't even know he had been holding. Looking over at Grissom, he nodded.

Grissom stepped forward and said quietly, "At this time, Greg and Nick have asked me to read from First Corinthians, but I think there is someone much better to do so here." He turned to Jill Stokes. "Mrs. Stokes, would you do the honors?"

Thoroughly surprised, Jill stepped forward and took the Bible from his hands. She cleared her throat and began. "Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, love is not pompous, it is not inflated, it is not rude, it is not selfish, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury, it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails…So faith, hope, love remain; but the greatest of these is love."

Nick and Greg looked at each other, tears in their eyes. This was it—there was no going back now. The justice looked over his glasses at them before asking Greg, "Gregory Hojem Sanders, do you take Nicholas Michael Stokes to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love, comfort, honor and keep him, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him so long as you both shall live?"

Greg looked at Nick, eyes shining with love. "I do."

The Justice turned to Nick and asked him, "Nicholas Michael Stokes, do you take Gregory Hojem Sanders to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love, comfort, honor and keep him, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him so long as you both shall live?"

Nick's face broke into a grin. "I do."

Them each repeated his vows after the justice.

"I, Gregory Hojem Sanders…"

"_I, Nicholas Michael Stokes…"_

"Take Nicholas Michael Stokes to be my lawfully wedded husband."

"_Take Gregory Hojem Sanders to be my lawfully wedded husband."_

"To have and to hold from this day forward,"

"_To have and to hold from this day forward,"_

"For better or for worse,"

"_For better or for worse,"_

"For richer or poorer"

"_For richer or poorer"_

"In sickness and in health"

"_In sickness and in health"_

"To love and to cherish"

"_To love and to cherish"_

"Til death do us part."

"_Til death do us part."_

The justice motioned to Warrick for the rings. Warrick pulled the matching bands from his suit pocket and handed them to Nick and Greg.

Greg slid Nick's band over Nick's finger, repeating after the justice, "With this ring, I thee wed; all my love, I thee give."

Nick slipped Greg's onto Greg's finger and said, "With this ring, I thee wed; all my love, I thee give."

Smiling widely, the justice said, "Inasmuch as you have pledged the other your lifelong commitment, love and devotion, with the power invested in me by the country of Canada I now pronounce you married." He added as an afterthought, "You may kiss…each other."

Grinning, Greg leaned in and kissed Nick, who kissed him back fiercely. Everyone erupted into cheers and even Nick's parents smiled for their son.

Then Nick scooped Greg up the way a groom would his bride and yelled, "On to the reception." Amidst Greg's protests and cheering from Catherine and Sara, he carried from the room and back to the car so they could head back to Papa Olaf's for the reception.

* * *

The reception was not a fancy affair; the men loosened their ties and took off their jackets, and the women didn't sit properly despite their dresses. All of them just sat around Papa Olaf's huge dining room table, chatting and eating wedding cake. After about an hour, Greg stood up, pulling Nick up with him. "Alright, folks, it's time for our dance!" he exclaimed, dragging Nick over into a clear area. Greg nodded at Papa Olaf. "Hit it."

Papa Olaf dimmed the lights and turned on the cd player. Gentle piano strains enfolded Nick and Greg as they began to dance.

**"Never knew I could feel like this  
Like I've never seen the sky before  
I want to vanish inside your kiss  
Every day I love you more and more"**

Greg pulled Nick closer, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head on Nick's shoulder. Nick smiled at him and kissed him gently.

"Listen to my heart, can you hear it sings  
Telling me to give you everything  
Seasons may change, winter to spring  
But I love you until the end of time"

Grissom looked over at Nick's parents, watching them watch Nick and Greg dance. "Your honor, Mrs. Stokes," he said quietly. "I know you may not believe me, but your being here means the world to Nick. Even if you don't approve, just your presence is enough."

**"Come what may  
Come what may  
I will love you until my dying day"**

Roger looked at his son, pride shining on his face. "Whether or not I approve is irrelevant," he said. "What matters is them. Just look at Nick and Greg. They're perfect." He smiled wryly. "It just took a bit for me to get there."

He looked over at Grissom. "Greg's a good kid, right?"

Smiling lightly, Grissom said, "Greg's a great kid. He and Nick truly love each other, and Greg makes him happier than I've ever seen him before"

Nodding once, Roger said softly, "Then that's all that matters, that Nicky is happy."

Grissom nodded as well. "He is."

**"Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place  
Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace  
Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste  
It all revolves around you"**

Nick leaned into Greg and captured Greg's mouth with his own. The two seemed perfectly lost in the moment and each other.

**"And there's no mountain too high  
No river too wide  
Sing out this song I'll be there by your side  
Storm clouds may gather  
And stars may collide  
But I love you until the end of time"**

Greg pulled slightly away from Nick and looked at him seriously. "Nicky…when we get older, what will you do if I do get Parkinson's?"

Nick frowned at him. "Hey, this is supposed to be happy, remember? Besides," he added, leaning in so that their noses just touched, "I will love you until the end of time."

**"Come what may  
Come what may  
I will love you until my dying day"**

"Until my dying day?" asked Greg, smiling slightly.

"And beyond," grinned Nick, kissing him again. "Forever and to infinity and even after the apocalypse. I promise."

"Good," grinned Greg, kissing him.

**"Oh, come what may, come what may  
I will love you, I will love you  
Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place"**

Nick grinned even wider. "Besides, we have much more important things to worry about. Like what type of dog we're gonna get and when we're going to adopt our child."

Closing his eyes in utter contentment, Greg said softly, "I love you."

**"Come what may  
Come what may  
I will love you until my dying day"**

"Right back at you," said Nick, holding Greg close. "I love you, too."

They stayed that way until the end of the dance, just wrapped together in each other's love.

When it had finished, they reluctantly broke apart. Greg wove his fingers firmly with Nick's. "Come on," he said, pulling Nick toward the door.

"Where are we going?" laughed Nick, following him.

Greg just looked back at him with a grin on his face. "Papa Olaf has a couple horses," he mentioned casually.

Nick raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, so?"

Still grinning, Greg leaned in and said quietly, "Well, I've always wanted to ride off into the sunset with my white knight on a steed." He kissed Nick softly. "Now come on."

"Into the sunset, then," agreed Nick, following him out the door.

"No," said Greg, smiling. "Into our happy ending."

--FIN—

"_Love never fails"_

* * *

_**A/N:** So, that's it, people. A happy ending, after all._

_ A huge, HUGE thank you to everyone who reviewed: csiwolfe08, try, lol, daily, Sillie, Minako Mikoto, sandersfox, Goody, Askari Knight, twenty3, gregisamazing, Xombe, Assirem, astalder27, kittykat, um..., Sazmuffin, Wolflady, Blask Sorceress, knadineg, Dark Angel's Blue Fire, and Kelticsgirl. All of you helped make this amazing!_

_Now that that's been said, the time has come to say good-bye. So au revoir, and I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
_


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